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

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

I don’t
know why
I’m in the garden
kneeling on dirt

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

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

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

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

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

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.

how does an afternoon turn
on its axis?

We stop doing dishes while
a mile unwinds
from the tree outside.

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

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

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

You are strange, my mother said, dwelling on the past.

a folksome, gruesome opera
of gauze and malcontent.

In my universe, my arm carries a heart and flowers,
my back a misguided quote

my friends’ fathers are
dropping
I mean dying
like flies