furies

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I know the picture — this rubble was once
houses of prayer for a ruined city’s

people. Not all loss is the same. Absence
is pure fate for them, born for the Furies

that break city’s bones. You weren’t expecting
that. Fate was. Furies will help hook comely

scars in your flesh, nightmares in your dreaming.
Fate can’t help but love you, dear soon-to-be

survivor. All your talk of abstinence,
praxis and law means nix once Furies gut

man from man-made. Chaos is the virtue
gods call divine; all else is ego. Once

you claimed to be saved but from what?
Not this. Can you sense it coming for you?

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I, too, can’t sleep. I, too, dress in dark heat
and take a walk. Somewhere a jukebox croons.

Somewhere two kids fumble in the backseat
of her daddy’s clunker. Rain soon. Monsoons.

I love those kind of hurried fucks. Hoping
you won’t get caught. Hoping the seat won’t smell

of cum after. But … that need. Me needing
you. I can taste you in the air. Motel

neon. Passing cars. I can taste your need
all the way out here. How do people sleep

when such furies run through them? That low ache.
The sky’s violent passion. Love gone frenzied.

Scent of a wounded night. I walk, knee-deep
in lust. Drops fall but the heat doesn’t break.

memories of my ghost sista