you know that
baby swallows make silver ripples
in wild rivers to court reeds?

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…

I have an axe
with hearts gashed

You said it was okay to blame
what goes wrong on the planet

You are strange, my mother said, dwelling on the past.

Winter sat like a wolf
on the horizon.

You let the yellow glow
from eye sockets. The building up the street
is burning faster and faster.

Now that the Israeli has left, it falls
on me to make the salad.

Ghosts for hire, whispers in her mouth,
cysts to feel, the symmetry of a gift.

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

Empty vessels
make the most sound, I think,
as you rip the fairy lights off the handrail.

I am not a guide
for every traveler
of loss.

I would always rather be happy than
dignified. Rather held than held
in awe.

I myself should never have been born

how does an afternoon turn
on its axis?

You’ve spent a lifetime training
for this.

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 recommended
soft porn, as gentle prodding and petting parent
to parent might calm and soothe the kid.