and apples, mackintosh mostly, but any kind left in The Pub at the Assisted Living Place
I suffer visions and many indignities while looking for the Lobster
Long after midnight, we’re talking about our first time
I myself should never have been born
anger, like you can sink teeth into, candy apple
here is the sky in stop motion, flickering, a still shot in monochrome
People have always coped with flooding, and they learned to cope with death.
Just starlight and some small scribbling across vinyl.
I count my homes— those of my scattered youth the sanctuary of our young family the intermittent rest stops of apartments and vacations.
Any still figure at mid-late evening, when the long shadows make even crumbs appear arranged like furniture.
If my life was the size of my arm, I would stretch it out for you.
I have an axe with hearts gashed
Mostly he ate what was put on his plate snuck coffee grounds or dirt for a snack Once a zipper Unzipped
Her brown eyes, how a fig considers itself.
Yes I am guilty, I’m guilty. A sin was desirable then. Bring the dancer back to the stalks.
I don’t know why I’m in the garden kneeling on dirt
Lights on the dashboard spell out “You still can’t kiss me”
Empty vessels make the most sound, I think, as you rip the fairy lights off the handrail.
You let the yellow glow from eye sockets. The building up the street is burning faster and faster.
You’ve spent a lifetime training for this.