I’m in a habit of singing praises
Especially in front of your faces
The truth is daily I pick my heart up off the ground
Heaving it, heavy, down the sidewalk
I'm in a habit of seeing a vision
It often happens mid-conversation
Of my strung out father on our yellow leather couch
And later his breathless body in a hotel room downtown
I get a feeling
You, too, have habits
And I want to be gentle with
The reasons you have them
Whether we meet on a mattress, half-made of week-old navy blue blankets
Where the madness and magic poured into separate bodies show up
And as the four become one, in all weakness and strength
I realize my power — and both of our habits
Whether we meet down the block where the concrete’s cracked
Where the ivy wildfires up the brick and the crime light exposes it
We could meet there for various reasons, of one I’m quick to think
I realize the weight of my power — and both of our habits
I’m in the habit of wearing a habit
When truly I'm battered -- nearly always by forces I don't remember
Blows I can't trace
Waning towards waxes two hundred times faster
Than the moon and its phases
Begging my heart to maintain its lacquer
For the masquerade my ego threw
Instead I watch its orbit fall loose
It's got habits too