Do not say anything anybody else has said ever. Things are not “bleached by sun.”

here is the sky in stop motion, flickering,
a still shot in monochrome

and apples, mackintosh mostly, but any kind left in The Pub
at the Assisted Living Place

Ma wrings
a wet world
of colors

Even from this distance I could go out
the door it would bang shut and crumble

Okay, picture this: We’re in an elevator. The elevator shuts down. It doesn’t matter where we’re going, only that we’re alone.

I tap at the alphabet while a single deer
taps at the dirt beyond the brush
on the far side of the tree line.

Gravel-scatted hell &
we were blessed to be able
to hold on for even a heartbeat

You said it was okay to blame
what goes wrong on the planet

I have observed, the theorist
I am

Now that the Israeli has left, it falls
on me to make the salad.

Part of being a good sad person
is always painting the shadows
in the right direction and knowing
what sorrow to art with.

this is what I want you to to see:
leaves falling because it is too late for them not to

I am still waiting for the lion

Every so often, they add a tattoo
in honor of some long-forgotten love.