An Ideal Ledge

There is a ledge somewhere set against a deadly precipice

Which Spring's nostalgic winds never reach

It overlooks the confluence every sewer built by man

I stand naked and erect on this rock scarcely wide enough for my bare feet to rest flat

I watch the fluids below roll and fold. All of my lovers past and future present themselves naked in that muck, pulsating like eggs

A thousand epigones below cry:

"Only to live, to live, to live…"