How fruitful it seems.
But it spirals, too something. Ergo
a round problem.
Tho what lens isn’t my kryptonite?
All I know is I’ve been around a long time
and it’s impossible to convince me otherwise.
9:12 AM again
and I’m not in love with my new shirt.
Threat-level yellow, doors
open and close.
Pilcrows fly from stanza
Each moment stings
and I’m longing.
My new shirt is grey.
Look at my face.
I’m just one of
two lost souls
on an uptown 3 train.
Clockwise and counter, brush
the summer around my eyes.
It’s too hot to write a poem.
O girl, how the city gets bent out of shape.
cross the street.
The bank called again.
But we were already late.
My feelings hurt: I had had too many thoughts.
I remember the old days, Monday
when everything was true.
Now the mornings arrive too blue to be believed.
Insert any amount of time.
but night always stays the same.
I repeat what she says and we call it a conversation.
It doesn’t matter what I wear.
But what does the truth look like?
(Snakes lick their lips.)
Waves scallop the shore.
Lifeguards haunt our fun.
Now that I own a full-length mirror
I’m always camouflaged.
a different ghost.
Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night so I can be alone.
Sometimes it feels like the buildings are closing in.
Sometimes I hear a subway where there is none.