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torn;  a failing feather in her handwriting  faintly hidden under the mirror secondhand smiles dribble down my chin convince, looking into her eyes is my first mistake sun swirling across her pepperbright skin sin on this surely extant coffeeshop couch remind me of how her wrist, peachly thin  xrecalls mad machinations and I must begin…

there’s her handwriting  hidden faintly in the mirror. … i’m fat with second hand smiles the sun gliding across your pepperbright skin here on this coffeeshop couch  convincing elbow high across the overfull beast … it’s simply floating here, i can’t blame anyone but myself or maybe my mother, who first floated the thing,  saying, “i can’t blame…

there’s something to be written about self-awareness _____ i was smiling there on the coffee shop couch convincing _____ arm slung — casually, so casually, completely casually  _____ — casually over the back of the second hand couch and sun gliding _____ across your skin — pepper bright  i can’t blame anyone but myself _____ this is a good idea,…

L’angelo del povero Ora che invade le oscurate mentiPiú aspra pietá del sangue e della terra,Ora che ci misura ad ogni palpitoIl silenzio di tante ingiuste morti, Ora si svegli l’angelo del povero,Gentilezza superstite della’anima… Col  gesto inestinguibile dei secoliDiscenda a capo del suo vecchio popolo,In mezzo alle ombre… _______________ The poor man’s angel Now…

suddenly the sweetness of some fruit i can’t recall.  memory’s mouth models peanut butter, avocado spread thin onto toasted brown bread and the saccharine spear implacable  causes me to heave, breathe heavily  in hopes of dislodging a pneumonic  of seeds split and juice spit — an unmistakeable missing [for Matthew Rohrer, 062120121546]

their horns clash and felted dung flung off in a chunk a forgotten sacrament  spills into soil. [for 44. palmate antlers by adam clemente]

they’re back onthe lightsand i want to speak to youabout the bathroom doorwithout mentioning the bathroombut between usyou & mei’m thinking about buying a new TVmaybe twoStone Johnson fadesStop thinking about it; you’ve paid your billsI’ve had my fillwaking upEverything are you hungry?Ballers & Poets sweat in different waysso… make your own connectionsI won’t do…

balancing youthagainst youth as the thing heatsgrinding his flintsinew tall & incisor lean lapping now, she’s a burnerdeath & a sweetoxidizing dreamcream ballistic, stop and frisk a billystick he bandies with a fecund brickpassing from hand to handdarkening venus’s thong — drinking whatever slipsfrom her lips.