sweetly swimming
in the colder tides of
emptiness—
tidier than the backseat and
your umbrellas; tidier
than the rolling crests of
suburbia;
tidied by the frayed smoothness
of sea.

a head of roses parts his soul
a bed of thoughts parts his heart

she grew forests in her sleep
because she feared the deeper greens
thought too much for the fallen leaves
remembered too little of the planted seeds

and walked too far from her heeled step march

she sang alone on a path asking of two
she skipped the thought of thinking of you

i dream to sleep on gasoline
where dollars can pay my conscience clean

i.

I wish there was a melody
To the way you curve your mouth
Or a beat to sound mine steadily
That could match the style of your road routes
Maybe the asphalt slows your thoughts
And miles help your dad sleep sound
Knowing you can leave far from his reach
And flip your coins on gasoline
Instead of 16 lotto tickets
In hopes to win your way out

a.n.