Back in January seeds started flowing
From the balcony.

On Sunday we read
The poems of the deaf and
Watched the matches stumble
Drunkenly through the darkness.

In March my hips began to
Fill out like my mother’s.

A monsoon of bullet ants
Waged war along the perimeter of the bath.
I squashed three under my thumb.
Hide, I told them. I have dropped mercy off the edge of the hanging bridge.

In May the stars were soft,
The ants came back to bite me in my sleep.

I tried to clasp your nose to keep you warm
But all the heat had flown from our bodies.
Sacrifices were made along the way.
The ants, admittedly, least among them.

Darling, you should know
that I have more self-love in my
left pinky finger than to be
somebody's second choice.

When I was enough
I caught the downbeat
Broke it right,
Knew how to run it
Just a little bit harder--
Caught it on the upswing,
Watched it lose itself,
Let it go.

What’s the difference between *** & making love?
& can you make love to strangers?
And make it so beautiful that it
Still wakes them up at night sixty years later?
Even if you didn’t know her first name?

A Nigerian told me I need to have more ***,
Tap tap wedding ring on a
Plastic dashboard.

Where is your final town, your resting place?
And is Gene Davis there as well, and
Does he take his coffee strong?

As the days roll by
Do you try to fill the silence
Reminiscing of moments when pastels bled together?

Or is it mostly regret
That boysenberry and maroon never played
As well as they should have?

That you couldn’t fall in love
With the way the iris of a forget me not
Brushes up against the strength of an evergreen--

Overlooked her soul, Gene
Never caught the undertones in the light--
Only found beauty at the end.

The last time she shook
There was movement in the white,
And smoothness in the bronze of the church bells.

Baby, this will make us look be-a-u-ti-ful.
The difference between rich and poor
Has and always will be good lighting,
Marching orders-- no interrogations,
Hang the **** string lights,
Swivel the sconces to the left a hair,
Light me up baby, yes. Be-a-u-ti-ful.
They’re going to see us,
All the way from space think man,
Those ******* sure do have it all,
They must have every last Eaton, Osram
Can you imagine the bill?
Must blow the energy company’s ******* mind.
Yes, baby, yes. More filaments.
Throw some Chicago on the record player while you’re at it,
We’re going to throw the swankiest party this town’s ever seen--
Rich stuff, baby, classy.
Be-a-u-ti-ful.