Next to the whorehouse
is a bar. How many desires
drown within another?
the sky grows dark in the rain;
I straighten my hat afraid
I will be misunderstood.
Somewhere in the distance
a monk sings without remorse
about the end of love.
Nowhere exists a river
deep enough to wash away
what I must now give up.
In fire passion’s refined;
a body does not leave a mind.
(April 21, 2022)
subtext 