like a game show or some other excusefor selling toothpaste. Wish I could remember who said that,
If someone was kind enough to take us driving out to the long roadsthat veered away from cornfields to the farms, pig roasts & parties
I look at you with my vexed eye.I look at you with my hostile eye.I look at you with my hostile and vexed eye.My hostile, vexed eye is a wrench.
A stifling heat—the air heavy—and all around the loud, wet forest knotting the gaps in its own sound.
A peace long earned, then broken;
I wish we were livinga story of desire, butI don’t feel Odysseus beating out his taleof longing at the oars
Cutting down Chambers St.
my pinky toenail comes clean off.
Another little ghost
What if each timeyou caused paina small, round stonewas put in your pocketpebbles for inducingself-doubt
That one smelled like a Bradford pear you said.
St. Stephen’s Day: home unsettled, a rupture, and here the ruched branch has turned itself outward,
its soft, bright innards held up along the path. At first, a golden
Before I leave for good, I lift the pie server a final time, drop the receipt facedown next to the lemon blueberry slice, then my apron in the parking lot