She giggles
at her grey pubic hair
through new glasses
☯︎
An old film…
the youth’s curly leg hair
vanishes mid-thigh
☯︎
An ambulance waits…
little girl rides a scooter
in ellipses
☯︎
Coke bottles
clink in his square basket…
pedaling home
☯︎
He pressure-washes
into the windstorm…
prancing spray-ghosts
☯︎
Tuscon
does not vibrate, does not ring…
soft like the desert
☯︎
Fresh socks go faster
doubled each day
in my rain boots
☯︎
Kicked to the curb…
but I’m blessed with this stoplight
and a bracing freeze
☯︎
This grey day
born half-dead, capitulates
to patient dark
☯︎
A fight I don’t want
to have (she’s thrown out
good bread yet again)
☯︎
A retreat;
melting ice…my erection
shrivels in my pants
☯︎
This train
as it speeds–pushing
wind ahead
☯︎
Deaf-mute,
numb to thunder, sees lightning
with his eyes closed
☯︎
Wednesday…
I pitch loneliness
to the gull, swooping
☯︎
