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William Matthews - A Life Of Crime
Work rating: Low

Frail friends, I love you all! 
Maybe that`s the trouble, 
storm in the eye of a storm. 
Everyone wants too much. 
Instead we gratefully accept 
some stylized despair: 

suitcoats left hanging 
on folding chairs, snow falling 
inside a phonebooth, cows 
scouring some sad pasture. 
You know the sort of landscape, 
all sensibility and no trees. 

Nothing but space, a little 
distance between friends. 
As if loneliness didn`t make us 
responsible, and want accomplices. 
Better to drink at home 
than to fall down in bars. 

Or to read all night a novel 
with missing heirs, 513 pages 
in ten-point type, and lay my body 
down, a snarl of urges 
orbited by blood, 
dreaming of others.
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