PREPARATIONS FOR WORK
Weeds stand erect
on the roadside
Through the squinting heat
of motel curtains
three-day stubble
of dreams close behind me
My shadow outruns me
only when I pass under a light
All these days
snapshots of the dead
in the lining of my coat
and what to show for it
My face contorts without command
My tendons like old gears grind
dry and flake away