Something somehow organizes the rush. Tonight, with

my own hand strap, I won't have to milk the poles,

bump the crinkly cellophane-wrappped bouquets

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the elevator arrives but u forget why ur there

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too many days saying not this

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or [worse] hearing not chu

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Before sunrise,

a red-blooded man

says he can cook

me a Bundy burger

if I want one...

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Have you eaten? I have. I’ve eaten your order.

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of no small size swelling

in me. I will liken it to a grapefruit,

the frequent object of comparison in stories

Yeah live forever mood

as a minnow school

flutters patches of pond

& gramps jumps into one of those

haggard, saggy, where am I? naps.

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but that doesn’t mean i’m

            not deserving of

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kindness.

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What if Jefe’s never got condemned, if

The Backyard never changed management, if Tiny

Robots still played gigs.

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a whole gigantic marching band, one that used to be louder than bulldozers, louder than  jets, louder than Aunt Catherine after three margaritas (no salt)

I hoped you’d grow into a southern red oak speaking of your roots and the struggle for sun.

I want a little more bureaucracy
in my horror.

Zach Braff is the perfect manic pixie dream boy
for any pet funeral, and yet, I suppose
he didn’t get the memo that he was meant

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to come down from the Garden State and do the honors.

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HALF PAST 11:00 sleeps in my bed and refuses to be

roused. I tuck the sheets in tight before I leave for work

At the dark sky campsite I put a red filter over my flashlight.

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He only allows my entrance to unbutton my dress
and form those animal poses. To be near him
is to be reduced to line

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