my father holds his favorite drink
Mostly he ate what was put on his plate snuck coffee grounds or dirt for a snack Once a zipper Unzipped
Lights on the dashboard spell out “You still can’t kiss me”
I have observed, the theorist I am
There is so little left of the tomato plants.
Millions of Americans have been affected by identity theft. It’s probably the greenhouse gases.
I imagined a cascade of slow death for all / that mattered…
Any still figure at mid-late evening, when the long shadows make even crumbs appear arranged like furniture.
Her brown eyes, how a fig considers itself.
We stop doing dishes while a mile unwinds from the tree outside.
I am still waiting for the lion
Winter sat like a wolf on the horizon.
Listen to me: I know the winter gloom in mid-summer…
Every so often, they add a tattoo in honor of some long-forgotten love.
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.
I want to roll in this moment until I become its vocabulary until I smell like the bones until I am its echo…
I myself should never have been born
Even as the sun warms the concrete the long nights’ sensual cold lingers in my clothes.
here is the sky in stop motion, flickering, a still shot in monochrome
I tap at the alphabet while a single deer taps at the dirt beyond the brush on the far side of the tree line.