He is a banana so
I ask him what fruit would I be...

They're playing conga drums and bongo drums and...
in the living room...

My mind dribbles
like brine strained through a cheesecloth, I know...

They came out jagged
as he rolled over. They came...

Here, there
patterns scoot on concrete...

First, I hear the curtains drawn back. Next,
the door's distant creak and the rustle...

We walk down streets
stuffed with houses, rows and rows...

I saw it flying on a banner behind a plane
over our school assembly, held every Monday...

If I were to swing high above you,
black hair flying...

Ugh. I should have known.
It has been heaving itself upon me all day...

If I were to
mint the minutes...

Strike up the orchestra, my friend,
We shall have a waltz tonight...