It is the 70s. 1970s? 2570s? Who knows? Audre and I have a penthouse in New York.
You said it was okay to blame what goes wrong on the planet
It recommended soft porn, as gentle prodding and petting parent to parent might calm and soothe the kid.
I suffer visions and many indignities while looking for the Lobster
I would always rather be happy than dignified. Rather held than held in awe.
The sin is existing.
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.
Ghosts for hire, whispers in her mouth, cysts to feel, the symmetry of a gift.
Long after midnight, we’re talking about our first time
You’ve spent a lifetime training for this.
We found in his suitcase T-shirts, his siddur, gifts he bought for his grandchildren…
we drove on through the blue seal of morning as the turbines turned and winked out their hearts
Mostly he ate what was put on his plate snuck coffee grounds or dirt for a snack Once a zipper Unzipped
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
The two of us toast to a man we both love, to whatever degree, clink our glasses and laugh…
you quit wearing pants loaf around your yard in hole-nipped panties
Any still figure at mid-late evening, when the long shadows make even crumbs appear arranged like furniture.
Lights on the dashboard spell out “You still can’t kiss me”
Now that the Israeli has left, it falls on me to make the salad.