emotional egoism

in my swooping indignity
I will take what I can get. They figure
me blind as a bat, those
sonars before telegrams,
faster than desire.

these evenings were
made for the avoidance
of falling. we lay
close to one another, pretending
to reorient gravity.

the floating stars are hard
to see beyond the soft
pollution. suddenly it
made a difference whether I
could feel God
I was

trembling to untie a mask
I never wore. how I
ever neglected the air
against my hot, sticky face
I cannot say.