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?
desk lamp,
do you judge me
glowing cyclops eye bent over
arcing, aching LED light
watching me as I squander
the hours away
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
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”
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.
body like a flower,
lace; ruffles in the wind
petals soft and pink
wilting in my hand
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
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.
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
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
