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

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

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

I tap at the alphabet while a single deer
taps at the dirt beyond the brush
on the far side of the tree line.

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

I suffer visions and many indignities
while looking for the Lobster

I myself should never have been born

I am not a guide
for every traveler
of loss.

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

There is so little left of the tomato plants.

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

If America is Babylon / and you are an exile / newly arrived among pagans / Catholic, ‘Ngolan, Black, woman / you already know how to pray

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

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…