angel is at the door. / you don’t know what it means, but /
oh m, please pray for me. please / melt the dust off the doorstep, let angel in.
bring the bread to utah and eugene and atlanta and north dakota / the places he was in / the shows you wanted to see /

dear butterfly, i want to go to rome like they did. i want to be in monterey again, it sits in my stomach. / the ocean cemetery, the seaweed, the rain / i want to reach down into my small intestine and pull out seagulls, potato chips, the mist. monterey, please come back /

i’m inferior to the little girl inside me. / she is blue and unbreathing due to the strangulation, my cramped ribcage. we were hand in hand in eighth grade, i think, when my body didn’t end / when my memory wasn’t sticky from too many rewinds.
angel, come in / i’ll pick the fleas from your wings, i’ll shave your head for you