Brooklyn at Night

There might be the exceptional possibility
that something could go wrong with panic
that I was a thick pelted animal of some sort
the skin around my eyes was peeling
so the other animals ran from the room.
Now it's like living with a sad silent ghost
some of them jiggled with the standard pink share
I thought the floor was sagging from the weight of my books
of their mossy genitals and the fog around them
the swirl of traffic pushing the night around like a bully
from the smokehouse. They would eat themselves alive
there are things I'll never know until I do them
if they were afraid enough of what I could do.