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

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

If my life was the size of my arm, I would stretch it out for you.

Try not to see your own predicament in every fucking thing.

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

The storm passes without snow.
The car waits loyally in the back lot.

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

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

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

I am not a guide
for every traveler
of loss.

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.

and then her eyes fully opened — blazed through with strands of mud

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

Part of being a good sad person
is always painting the shadows
in the right direction and knowing
what sorrow to art with.

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

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

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

Even from this distance I could go out
the door it would bang shut and crumble