old city

in this draw-string pouch
of tooth-ache and heart-sting, men

jumbled around each other, limbs
loose and shiny as wax paper

holler out their claims
on my body: quiet alaskan expanse

more comfortable abandoned
than dug or plowed, planted, reaped

and sowed. in summer
the heat swells them. they bubble

and burst, lithe and heady, press
me against walls outside after midnight

moan when i moan, promise
what is never meant to be trusted.