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

The sin is existing.

a folksome, gruesome opera
of gauze and malcontent.

my father holds
his favorite drink

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

I suffer visions and many indignities
while looking for the Lobster

I am not a guide
for every traveler
of loss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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