The women he has had are all faces Without eyes He has entered them blind As a cut worm He has swum their oceans Like a wounded fish Looking for home At nights when he can't sleep He dreams of weaving Backward up that river Where the banks Are fringed with mouths & weedy hair Grows amid the dark crusts Of ancient blood Tonight he is afraid & lonely In a city of meat & knives I would go under his knife & move so willingly That his heart Might turn to bu*ter In his mouth