Bonehead

boxer shorts, a warm night
for all the stink of me
wearing yesterday’s shirt
with my little fan running

call to bare knuckles
formed to shape angry thoughts
in the shadow of all kindness
surely bestowed saintly on a fool

who turns proud, pacing, grinding
nibbling, nips dark in the brain silo
bonehead cache of saids and dids

the beacon of remembered slights
steering the someday ships
straight into the rocks

I ask myself: did you see that?