Sleeping in class

because I don’t have time to sleep at home

yet, i learn more staying at home instead

and reading textbooks and

late, late, late

In a tunnel under Boston

Feeling like a seagull riding a summer thermal

stark white, stretched across pale blue

or was it a cricket crouched along his twigs

wondering

Still on a rock

I wonder how the ants feel, about me steeling their road

and turning it into my chair on the edge of a lake

is this a highway robbery?

Esplanade

I want to be at peace with you alongside

rest under jubilant trees

blossoms drifting in the valley between our chests

from on a plane

I love so how the fog rolls in,

filling valleys with its embrace

sitting on a hillside, it’s like you’re watching

the nightly embrace

Putnam Ave

A baby on the bus

strapped into a stroller

hands in socks, mittens with no fingers.

Quiet with a pacifier.

Parents preoccupied.

it looks for something — attention, food, love

quiet, with eyes full of tears.

purpose

i tend to find purpose like nesting dolls

good excuses buried under others

uses in uses in uses

“I love long coats because it’s cold in Boston”

hynes

body like a flower,

lace; ruffles in the wind

body like a flower,

petals soft and pink

wilting in my hand

body like a flower,

desk lamp

desk lamp,

do you judge me

glowing cyclops eye bent over

arcing, aching LED light

watching me as I squander

the hours away

hemenway, boston

like ivy on a brick wall

holding my heart close to yours

if i should stay

ill pull us down, brick by brick, to ruin

but if i leave alone

massachusetts turnpike

a thousand twin suns a minute

rumble rumble

rise from a tunnel under the buildings

a flash of the sky

then under again

led by their pure white eyes

rumble rumble

boston, november 12

they say that love will come in new costume

so how am i to recognize them when

they walk by me too fast, disguised?

and even then, why should i think that

rings

is it odd

the last thing i have left from her

i haven’t hidden or given away

is something i wear loudly

on the fourth finger of my right hand?

witness marks

i like that its called a witness mark

it makes it sound like the hammer remembers

every nail its hit

I think they have them too —

witness marks

fens

A bottle of fireball lies empty

between tree roots.

One bottle and two caps —

where is your partner?

who left you with only things

to remember them by?

I’ll sit here a while too

empty between tree roots.