you quit wearing pants
loaf around your yard
in hole-nipped panties

I would always rather be happy than
dignified. Rather held than held
in awe.

love is a soggy tea stain on a grocery receipt

a folksome, gruesome opera
of gauze and malcontent.

Long after midnight, we’re talking about our first time

I am not a guide
for every traveler
of loss.

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

Should have found a job by now; should have slept in the night;
should have boiled old coffee before noon.

Any still figure at mid-late evening, when the long shadows make even crumbs appear arranged like furniture.

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

There is so little left of the tomato plants.

I suffer visions and many indignities
while looking for the Lobster

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

It is the 70s. 1970s? 2570s? Who knows?
Audre and I have a penthouse in New York.

I don’t
know why
I’m in the garden
kneeling on dirt

I have an axe
with hearts gashed

Ghosts for hire, whispers in her mouth,
cysts to feel, the symmetry of a gift.

I like to think I’m also sprung,
released from the furnace knocks,
done with the heavy meat stews
and salty soups.