From here the mountain looks like moss, but there are worse things that could look like moss.   Bodies, for one. The first time passing most things, I did not know they could be looked at. God,   I was so proud. I thought I was pure movement.  Like I could prove the world’s ugliness…

two things are unique                to a home: writer’s block and wetting the bed. in sleep   my adult teeth pushed       each other from my mouth like dominos. you held    me, a wrinkled fetus         with long hair– we can laugh at…

after Alan Michael Parker it starts as a rash  hungover  past the yellow  line i blur into a  stroller on the far platform we threw out  anything remotely half-used: my bedsheets lay limp, like  bedsheets egg whites crease on themselves at every intersection your basement  smells rotten for a week this is how the  world…