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

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.

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

We stop doing dishes while
a mile unwinds
from the tree outside.

I buy too much, for someone of my stature.
could pawn a skinny metaphor to purchase a plump skin.
its reputed in our lineage— to daydream a life that shreds our pockets.

I have observed, the theorist
I am

Just starlight and some small scribbling across vinyl.

Mostly he ate what was put on his plate
snuck coffee grounds or dirt for a snack
Once a zipper Unzipped

I am still waiting for the lion

a folksome, gruesome opera
of gauze and malcontent.

Winter sat like a wolf
on the horizon.

my love is a glass shard, a knife made of madness and moonlight,
and there are already way too many fragments in this house

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

the strands of your hair on the bathroom tiles aren’t sketching defeat. that’s you spitting disease in the face with another day you’ve woken up to.