then
the eagle is healed

She walks around like a colt in a kitchen I don’t know, bluish crescent bruise on her calf flashing every couple of turns at me.

I would take you as you are and were
over all this dead air.

Am I too old?              Nah,

I’ve yet to wear

my trousers rolled.

But      this morning

coffee in bed,              my wife 

and I scrolling — 

Hers:               prison

I left Texas to have him. Not for him, but for me: so that I would survive.

i wonder how hard it is for her to 

reconcile being a Christian and a witch

judge and judged. how easy 

cause that is all we knew 

we drank liquor, smoked crack, 
escorted prostitutes around in our car,

hoping for a bisquit, or a small dead bird,
a song sweetly sung; that no one ever heard.

And I wonder if we are always standing at the street corner eating each other’s hearts.

In essence, there’s only one advert that can placate the masses. It’s by the surfers, slicing through the whitecaps like rotten pomegranates. It’s a thirty second trance, with a Magritte bowler hat, floating over roadkill.

if i tally it
every time
my tongue finds cherry

do you still
pull your thumb down my lip
sweet surrender

in the other city
the social concepts that killed me here
stay peripheral 

I regret inventing t-shirt language model twink size

She lives in Brooklyn, so I go to Brooklyn.

When I got back to your room, my makeup gone, wet strands of hair sticking to my back,

cadillac blue and sprite can green

And as I darkened, I needed nothing.

it explodes painfully

It felt like belonging, like being needed.

The terrains alien, the people / Extra terrestrial / Make sense do not.

My wife and I run around the tables in our moisture-wicking workout clothes for the entire 177-minute runtime of the masterful, twenty-nine-track album.

writing like someone might care

according to some, no unicorns were on noah’s ark 

“Pull over,” I said, “I’m finna yerk.”

A Small Gift

…is awareness, at first,

and then it may take over,

for a while, and also recede

if it must, and at times, it must.

That sometimes gentle ebb and flow,

and sometimes

There areThree parts to any start. A Triptych. Trust me.  

I want my gentlemen taken care of, kids nonexistent, my money on the table and it’s black on first spin.