Don’t eat chicken noodle soup from a saucepan leaned back in a recliner
because your neighbor could hit his wife in the back of the head
with a cue ball and the cops might siren down your street
causing you to flinch and spill hot broth on your
chest;  I have a bone to pick with the coward.

Night lowers its curtain of silence,
my only time to steal away, and
**** the flavour out of every
lovely rind.

It is its lime
bitterness,
mine to enjoy.
If only I could taste it.

I could have
          sworn we were
                             meant to be

We argued
             so perfectly
                             together

Don't talk to the old man
on the ladder he's likely
cleaning eavestroughs

end to end full of leaves
kite string & black
beetles

He may mumble
teetering on the rungs
but don’t interrupt work

he has enough to handle.