Word is Bail

You'll have to take my word.
It was a wednesday, I'll say,
Though who could be sure;
When all-days and tungsten
Are alloyed by high melting
Points and the unstable half-
Lives of five isotopes' niche uses.

And sense comes from your
World inside. It stays on the line
For organizing--are you aware
Or even capable of contemplating
All those unanswered things?
I want you to work, too-soft tyro;
I want you to learn teaching.

Thursday through Tuesday
Were spent humidly breathing
Awkward regrets and silence
In clinical dining rooms w/decaf
And overdressed dementia cases
Making reservations on the moon.
Sunday was restless and all-rains.

Orderlies have never been for hire
For me--for as much as I can present
Myself neatly, anyone with warm blood
Seems to have a grim premonition
Warning them not to get involved w/Andy--
I tell myself it's because they're threatened by
My blinding virility and precipitating disposition.

Then there are those drawn in like fly-to-light.
I used to accept their lunacy and issue-addled love,
Out of lust for intensity and need for intimacy;
Every year was thirty and it tired me out right.
Benevolent and patient and desperate connective,
Drawn to drama, drunk destruction, conspiracy;
Pulled up over the side of the boat, tired fight.