We sleep soon,
each other’s furnace…
my chin at her ear
☯︎
Her bottom,
cupped in my hands…
what to whisper next?
☯︎
Jonquil, jonquil!
Dance behind my eyelids…
brush my stubble
☯︎
She’s dying…
cream-and-brown ducks
camp in the mud
☯︎
Rain
meets the ringing in my ears…
sparkling counterpoint
☯︎
Empty mirror
against the white brick wall…
burro’s footfall
☯︎
Burro,
asleep on its feet…
slumped haystack
☯︎
February…
mashed cockroach
still struggles to crawl
☯︎
My old friend,
how tenderly he sleeps
in the ripped chair
☯︎
February…
four ducks float past
the bridgekeeper’s hut
☯︎
February:
steam from my taco…
silence
☯︎
February…
cardboard box afire
by the burger stand
☯︎
February…
broom scrapes
on dry snow
☯︎
Sailor suit,
sailor’s roof…
salt and sand
☯︎
She shuts the hutch,
dawn makes up its mind…
dreaming chickens
☯︎
February:
scud over crescent moon…
last wick flickers
☯︎
My mental breakdown
composed, this time,
of littered Kleenex
☯︎
February…
pigeons resettle, then,
on the spilled popcorn
☯︎
Something waits
for that dew not yet dried…
grass tips
☯︎
“MacArthur Park”
eighteen minutes long…
shaving foam thick down the drain
☯︎
(by the time)
the old man shouts from a dream
(our train stops)
☯︎
And to think I once watched
two blackbirds
north past the sunset
☯︎
Autumn sun
attracts no notice…
freed from those mountains
☯︎
February…
crow paces through a puddle
in the parking lot
☯︎
February…
rain taps once at the window,
reminding
☯︎
