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.
Side Cars are for Bitches
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
to come down from the Garden State and do the honors.
Half Past 11:00
HALF PAST 11:00 sleeps in my bed and refuses to be
roused. I tuck the sheets in tight before I leave for work
A Conversation with Frau Schiele
He only allows my entrance to unbutton my dress
and form those animal poses. To be near him
is to be reduced to line
Here, riding in a taxi on the Manhattan Bridge
late at night in a pit-pat drizzle,
everything looks puffy from the back seat window
Photo of a Turtle in Which No Turtle Is Visible
Just under the browned swamp surface: a reaching
neck (not pictured). The edge of a stick (pictured).
The tiger makes it all so easy, the way it sweeps the woman’s house, packs a satsuma for her snack, accounts for the taxes.
Need Comes Down Like A Mallett
And the town crier cries la localende! This is one of the stories where a stranger
comes to town. A stranger with a stranger tool.
Come down from the hill freckled with mustard gesare. You know the stuff, Mara
how it explodes in middle spring.
epigenetics or: time draws a circle
which summer is this
arithmetic is one thing, freckles another
power drags from the east in a late august storm