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

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

Ma wrings
a wet world
of colors

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

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

my friends’ fathers are
dropping
I mean dying
like flies

I imagined a cascade of slow death for all / that mattered…

You are strange, my mother said, dwelling on the past.

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

He has stories that I am not in
anymore. It’s healed this way.

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

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…

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

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.

I myself should never have been born