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Monday, April 2, 2018


I fit in any shoe my size, I find
a poem as a police

as if I might confess

on behalf of
the cellular collective

bad cop

tonight’s typos:

Like kudzu, you say?
Before regret, just gret?

Extinction by topaz...
If this message in a bottle is found

please discard the message
and return the bottle

to this address
on the Mosholu Parkway

Recall the day, sometime in late July...
Pause here to stare at the spirally spirals

Torpidity’s torpors
My suspense carries me

into the opposite
Minuet with irons? ASMR?

Daybooks are crumbs swept
of nightbooks... by night?

or by memory by day
like a whole city is secretly buried

but only a species who understands gases
more truthfully than we do can see it as such


The science of the morning
Reenacting eyes closed walking home the usual way

a two-sentence essay
on gravity

Pulled toward the center of

A cleansing thought will come
Purest water

leaves behind its smell

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