all we used to do was
fuck and fuck and fuck and fuck
and fuck and fuck and fuck and fuck
some times some days all we'd do
was fuck and fuck and fuck and fuck
and spend the whole weekend fucking
fucking in her flat in sleeping hollow
fucking away everything all that was painful
all that was phony and suffering and sorrow
all that was bad and wrong in the world
fucking away overbearing impossible
mothers and fathers fucking away
bad marriages fucking away suicide and life
and breakdowns and betrayals and you know
it was the happiest time of our lives something
i always go back to
and then the foghorns
would come some time
around dusk and felt
they were just right outside
our window and they were
whose groans and blasts
just swept everything else up
and whose anonymous shady
geometric shapes creeping and crawling
like a mischievous thief took you in and spit
you out right into the amorphous ethereal unknown
like an old newspaper
like a ghost tumbling down old ancient
curbs and corners of dusty cobblestone
you know
all we did was
fuck and you know...
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