Now that the Israeli has left, it falls
on me to make the salad.

Ma wrings
a wet world
of colors

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

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

I myself should never have been born

Just starlight and some small scribbling across vinyl.

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

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.

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

a folksome, gruesome opera
of gauze and malcontent.

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.

Mostly he ate what was put on his plate
snuck coffee grounds or dirt for a snack
Once a zipper Unzipped

Every so often, they add a tattoo
in honor of some long-forgotten love.

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

Winter sat like a wolf
on the horizon.

how does an afternoon turn
on its axis?

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…