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

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

I buy too much, for someone of my stature.
could pawn a skinny metaphor to purchase a plump skin.
its reputed in our lineage— to daydream a life that shreds our pockets.

There is so little left of the tomato plants.

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

I have an axe
with hearts gashed

Ma wrings
a wet world
of colors

Do not say anything anybody else has said ever. Things are not “bleached by sun.”

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

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

a folksome, gruesome opera
of gauze and malcontent.

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

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

Should have found a job by now; should have slept in the night;
should have boiled old coffee before noon.

Empty vessels
make the most sound, I think,
as you rip the fairy lights off the handrail.

I am still waiting for the lion