Dripping, and cold, Heavy's nose
is slipping away, (again)
into daydreams, coffee pots,
cigarette exhalations.
And his septum is caked
in an attempt to heal,
that he removes
forcefully.

And making enough (enough)
to keep fed, and housed,
Heavy goes to a toy shop.
The roses are long dead,
and Heavy has no interest in
the women on the bar stools.
One always gets away.

Unfolding a soft periwinkle bandanna,
Heavy looks down upon his profits.
And the boys not right.
And his lips (again) crack and bleed,
teaching his face to remain still,
and red as clay from the creek bed.