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

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

It recommended
soft porn, as gentle prodding and petting parent
to parent might calm and soothe the kid.

a folksome, gruesome opera
of gauze and malcontent.

how does an afternoon turn
on its axis?

you quit wearing pants
loaf around your yard
in hole-nipped panties

we drove on through
the blue seal of morning as the turbines
turned and winked out their hearts

I would always rather be happy than
dignified. Rather held than held
in awe.

I myself should never have been born

my father holds
his favorite drink

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

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…

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

There is so little left of the tomato plants.

I have observed, the theorist
I am

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

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

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