Even as the sun warms the concrete
the long nights’ sensual cold lingers in my clothes.

Listen to me: I know
the winter gloom in
mid-summer…

The sin is existing.

my father holds
his favorite drink

I want to roll in this moment until I become its vocabulary
until I smell like the bones
until I am its echo…

and then her eyes fully opened — blazed through with strands of mud

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.

Winter sat like a wolf
on the horizon.

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

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

Just starlight and some small scribbling across vinyl.

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

here is the sky in stop motion, flickering,
a still shot in monochrome

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…

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