“I watch what hovers like genie smoke – the grief –/near ancient tombs of white marble with grey veins,/or gravestones on a desert hill,/images that filter vaguely out of the words we use to mourn./Are you awake?”
“Small items, their lightness measured by just how many/you can lose and not notice. Imagine if we tucked/all the stinging things to our chests and rocked them quiet.”
“5. Spot your ex-roommates on campus. Remember their erratic sleep patterns, what they looked like in the mornings. The sounds of their alarms. They’ll ask, how’s the single? You say, great…”
“There’s always summer to/think/realize/laze./There’s always summer/and the year after that/and the year after that/and the year after that/and the rest of our lives.”
“I look out my bedroom window and admire Sacré-Cœur. The clouds inch past, the sky pales, then blushes, and before I know it the Eiffel Tower is alight, flashing like a jolly giant steel Christmas phallus. Every hour on the hour.”
