you came inside, where we atewhite cartons of lo mein, strippedof pretense. reclaimed, we cameby it honest, made shapesof lines, learned how they work together

a blind dog in the wildis a dead one1 which isthe first thing to understand but the house where daysare spent with the radiois barely

while I’ve been working to trickmyself into tasting sugarin what I can’t stomach, you’ve been trainingyourself on lights out westthat you can’t quite see. look

on my life I thought I’dnever call someone babyor ever want to, whether sexy admonition or tuckinghair behind ears. it felt likehunger that wasn’t mine.

the train in my mindfinally stops beforeI get off and wend the way through thisgarden of you turningthe fan off in the night. returning to

I want to tell you aboutthe cereal I ate orpigeon footprintsin wet cement, but scarcity warrantsdemand and theseheady grass dayshave been hard to come by.

no pilgrimage quite as long asthe four country miles,side-to-side in disconnected brooklyn,walking east togo west yet again we accidentally tangoboth prepared to leadthe Passion play

what a moment it is to haveshelved the bottle just as I’velearned a new game of cards.hands keep busy as birdsoutside run their errandsback and

Scheherazade, night so longwith the story I tell myselfto help winter pass, could be five ormidnight save for the moonlow over the Navy Yardsinging its