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

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

The sin is existing.

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.

Part of being a good sad person
is always painting the shadows
in the right direction and knowing
what sorrow to art with.

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

Ma wrings
a wet world
of colors

He has stories that I am not in
anymore. It’s healed this way.

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

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

the strands of your hair on the bathroom tiles aren’t sketching defeat. that’s you spitting disease in the face with another day you’ve woken up to.

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

and apples, mackintosh mostly, but any kind left in The Pub
at the Assisted Living Place

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

We found in his suitcase T-shirts, his siddur, gifts he bought for his grandchildren…

love is a soggy tea stain on a grocery receipt

Okay, picture this: We’re in an elevator. The elevator shuts down. It doesn’t matter where we’re going, only that we’re alone.