Even as the sun warms the concrete the long nights’ sensual cold lingers in my clothes.
Listen to me: I know the winter gloom in mid-summer…
The sin is existing.
my father holds his favorite drink
The collective failure of ethical standards
I want to roll in this moment until I become its vocabulary until I smell like the bones until I am its echo…
and then her eyes fully opened — blazed through with strands of mud
it’s touch-and-go with me and weddings
Live the rest of your life from one worst case to another.
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.
Winter sat like a wolf on the horizon.
I don’t know why I’m in the garden kneeling on dirt
If my life was the size of my arm, I would stretch it out for you.
I slumped in front of a massive desk, a passive patient corroded with failure and dread.
Just starlight and some small scribbling across vinyl.
Long after midnight, we’re talking about our first time
here is the sky in stop motion, flickering, a still shot in monochrome
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…
and apples, mackintosh mostly, but any kind left in The Pub at the Assisted Living Place
People have always coped with flooding, and they learned to cope with death.