1031

Love as a series of invitations to steakhouses.

Rolling dice on the touchscreen in the dive bar.

Lay out the book reviews across the baby's floor,
it's time to dismantle all the response mechanisms.

I get a ringing in the left ear when you don't sing.

The phone company is out to make sure I'm isolated,
but I'm not going to let that dog or pigeon drive.

Masking tape and magic marker.

Another magic mark.

Wary of the evenly-hovering baseball card.

The vista of the rubble.

When I was a glowing light coming from a dark room,
the question was, did I take up space?

An infant's experience of television,
or the new dream metaphor for "on to the next world"?

Now the grey brow of the next day
comes bearing its intense and metered verses.