2:41 a.m., I woke up startled
when a missile plummeted in a backyard...
The house is mute,
steeped with exasperation...
The ride back
home was silent...
“They have bigger sandwiches
here, the size of my arm. They respect...
Who needs
street lamps anyway...
Let me tell you,
my depression...
The curtains took care
of the obtrusive sunrise that crawled...
You’d never tell
how capable of grieving...
Now I tuck you in. Your hands
are warmer today...
The airport is a morgue.
I can identify this body: He’s a lover...
On quieter days, I catch
myself laying on...
He grabbed his notes from
the underground, fingers brushing...