Ma wrings
a wet world
of colors

love is a soggy tea stain on a grocery receipt

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.

a folksome, gruesome opera
of gauze and malcontent.

Lights on the dashboard spell out
“You still can’t kiss me”

You’ve spent a lifetime training
for this.

You let the yellow glow
from eye sockets. The building up the street
is burning faster and faster.

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.

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

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

In my universe, my arm carries a heart and flowers,
my back a misguided quote

I want to roll in this moment until I become its vocabulary
until I smell like the bones
until I am its echo…

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

There is so little left of the tomato plants.

you know that
baby swallows make silver ripples
in wild rivers to court reeds?

We found in his suitcase T-shirts, his siddur, gifts he bought for his grandchildren…

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