Beside the tracks, our bony butts parked on this green metal bench,
we laugh and bitch about losses, say damn this bag of stench stapled
to your cancer-belly, while butterflies try to hover themselves into spirits.
Don’t believe I’ve ever wanted to caress another man’s shoulders. Never
had a brother. But, brother, I can see the sharp blades of your back cut
through your flannel shirt. Between commuter trains, you parse ileo,
so we ride that song for a moment towards Troy. The obvious monarchs
keep flitting into light. Look out you say, as a yellow and black spider crawls
its path up my shin. I move my hand from your back, remember how slowly
we walked here and try to say nothing while I flick the dark body away.