PHILLY TO CORSICA 

 

plaintive days rolling out onto 

barrelhouse nights 

we were of the same dancing 

mad blood 

and rattled at fever pitch 

if we were taken 

it wouldn’t be quietly 

or completely we were 

buckling at fate 

rumbling with ardor 

laughing as the city burned 

loving when the search was on 

if you come out from the Midwest 

and I come up from the south 

I wouldn’t wager we’d rage again—

B space is all but razed 

and thundercloud plum 

splits the brick—

but I could love you 

really love you 

without trusting you 

I wouldn’t have to.