“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 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.”
I took a bus home to your nightly reenactments, the ones performed before you ever hid your lighters or begged for air. My blood’ll sort it out, you promised, ignoring London and your heredity, all those veils of ash and … Read More
The construction guys are wearing neon hoodies and eating grilled cheese sandwiches, Sprinkled across the lawn like lobster buoys — “Confetti thrown from heaven,” you’d call them When I was on the boat and couldn’t sleep. If I went back … Read More