I slumped in front of a massive desk, a passive patient corroded with failure and dread.
Winter sat like a wolf on the horizon.
I imagined a cascade of slow death for all / that mattered…
Long after midnight, we’re talking about our first time
it’s touch-and-go with me and weddings
He has stories that I am not in anymore. It’s healed this way.
Should have found a job by now; should have slept in the night; should have boiled old coffee before noon.
the man is stayed bent over the canvas of my sofa. the man is me the man is him self and I bring down the whip…
you quit wearing pants loaf around your yard in hole-nipped panties
You let the yellow glow from eye sockets. The building up the street is burning faster and faster.
Try not to see your own predicament in every fucking thing.
and then her eyes fully opened — blazed through with strands of mud
We stop doing dishes while a mile unwinds from the tree outside.
The two of us toast to a man we both love, to whatever degree, clink our glasses and laugh…
Mostly he ate what was put on his plate snuck coffee grounds or dirt for a snack Once a zipper Unzipped
Her brown eyes, how a fig considers itself.
Just starlight and some small scribbling across vinyl.
If America is Babylon / and you are an exile / newly arrived among pagans / Catholic, ‘Ngolan, Black, woman / you already know how to pray
Ma wrings a wet world of colors