love is a soggy tea stain on a grocery receipt
The sin is existing.
People have always coped with flooding, and they learned to cope with death.
you quit wearing pants loaf around your yard in hole-nipped panties
Ma wrings a wet world of colors
I like to think I’m also sprung, released from the furnace knocks, done with the heavy meat stews and salty soups.
Long after midnight, we’re talking about our first time
The storm passes without snow. The car waits loyally in the back lot.
He has stories that I am not in anymore. It’s healed this way.
It is the 70s. 1970s? 2570s? Who knows? Audre and I have a penthouse in New York.
Gravel-scatted hell & we were blessed to be able to hold on for even a heartbeat
I don’t know why I’m in the garden kneeling on dirt
I want to roll in this moment until I become its vocabulary until I smell like the bones until I am its echo…
Now that the Israeli has left, it falls on me to make the salad.
I imagine that undressing a color, though, would be so much like peeling a memory away from the grey and the white matter of your brain.
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.
it’s touch-and-go with me and weddings
Live the rest of your life from one worst case to another.
this is what I want you to to see: leaves falling because it is too late for them not to
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.