Any still figure at mid-late evening, when the long shadows make even crumbs appear arranged like furniture.
and apples, mackintosh mostly, but any kind left in The Pub at the Assisted Living Place
Ghosts for hire, whispers in her mouth, cysts to feel, the symmetry of a gift.
It recommended soft porn, as gentle prodding and petting parent to parent might calm and soothe the kid.
Long after midnight, we’re talking about our first time
we drove on through the blue seal of morning as the turbines turned and winked out their hearts
We stop doing dishes while a mile unwinds from the tree outside.
You’ve spent a lifetime training for this.
my father holds his favorite drink
Even as the sun warms the concrete the long nights’ sensual cold lingers in my clothes.
Millions of Americans have been affected by identity theft. It’s probably the greenhouse gases.
I am still waiting for the lion
Her brown eyes, how a fig considers itself.
In my universe, my arm carries a heart and flowers, my back a misguided quote
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…
We found in his suitcase T-shirts, his siddur, gifts he bought for his grandchildren…
my friends’ fathers are dropping I mean dying like flies
Gravel-scatted hell & we were blessed to be able to hold on for even a heartbeat
I am not a guide for every traveler of loss.