kept on the median

by waves of traffic a cloud

of seeds circling

caught in the lint trap

what’s left of three cigarettes

a new penny

in the laundry room

foul-mouthed young girls

a shell far from the sea

underneath the bridge

cobwebs swaying just above

the swift green water

that spring we spent

in the smoggy flatlands

here in a tube of glue

where the blue umbrella

sags hail growing clear

as it melts

white noise in the elevator

a drop of rain beaded

on my coat

five atomic pencils

your panties stuffed all

the way in my mouth

in the basement my

nose against your belly

a truck passes outside

a strange town

the waitress calls

me sweetie


lovemaking you sleep

I check the oil

vectors of

pressure converge

upon the single value

disquietude and

the exhausting abnegation

crow dilettantes

late morning the kettle

steams your panties in

a knot on the counter

she describes foxes

nursing a small cool

stone in my pocket

a sculpture made

of actions and ingested


the wind  blows your

smoke towards me

a fresh shave

in their pajamas

two girls chase down

their dog in the clover

flowing upwards

the pollen that settled

on the windshield

home for a

few minutes I change

my socks

reminiscent of

a skull your panties on

a stack of books

the little master

of artifice leaking through

your third eye

don’t worry

he’s invisible in most


in the June rain

a white spider picks its legs

up from the leaves

not sure how it got

there a pinecone in the sink

blue morning water

looking in the green

dark for turkeys we

find a tennis ball

panties in my laundry

I don’t know whose

they are either

a place where the wood

keeps breaking the nail

crow preening in the rain

draped across

the television something

one of the guests wore

crows in the hot

dusty air the sap crackles

in the pines

you hand me my

keys and they’re still

warm the odor of spiders

waking in my boots

my socks are missing a spoon

falls in the sink

Zodiac Love Secrets

only 99 cents asking about

the eggs the cashier wheezes

the places of

reflection become

more confined

patches on his

face unshaven the metal

trill of the meadowlark

your mother’s stealing

your panties the sparrow

returns for a few seeds

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