heart breaking

moments of agony and moments of glory
march across my memory.

the cat walks by
seeming to know everything.

my luck has been better, I think.

I have been loved by many woman,
and for being a complete fuck up at times,
that's lucky.

so many fingers pushing through my hair
so many arms holding me close
so many shoes thrown carelessly on the bedroom
rugs.

so many searching hearts
now fixed in my memory that
I'll go to my death,
remembering.

I have been treated better than I should have
been-
not by life in general
not by the machinery of things
but by women.

but there have been other women
who have left me
standing in a bedroom alone
doubled over-
hands holding the gut-
thinking
why why why why why why?

women go to men who are pigs
women go to men with dead souls
women go to men who fuck badly
women go to shadows of men
women go
go
because they must go
in the order of
things.

the women know better
but often chose out of
disorder and confusion.

they can heal with their touch
they can kill what they touch and
I am dying
but not dead
yet.