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

There is so little left of the tomato plants.

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

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

I count my homes—
those of my scattered youth
the sanctuary of our young family
the intermittent rest stops
of apartments and vacations.

I suffer visions and many indignities
while looking for the Lobster

Gravel-scatted hell &
we were blessed to be able
to hold on for even a heartbeat

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

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.

The sin is existing.

I am not a guide
for every traveler
of loss.

my love is a glass shard, a knife made of madness and moonlight,
and there are already way too many fragments in this house

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

my friends’ fathers are
dropping
I mean dying
like flies