Poems

Patron saint of lost things: / napkin poem and thirty bucks and / I think her name started with M.

we wanted the dreams / but didn’t want the dandelions / growing wild with delighted bees,

you just gotta know / when to toss them the meat / ‘try’ implies there is some latitude / in the outcome

& Delirium shows me our kids / & the house we would raise them in / & my perfect job / & I think, damn, that was easy

My zodiac sign really is the rabbit / As a child, I ground my teeth in my sleep / According to the rabbit dictionary / That’s how you say pain 

I found a chest / that contained an important upgrade // that let me absorb more damage / going forward,

I learn to fear / what might have happened if they had meant // to maul me, which is to say I don’t think enough / about death,

Beauty in, beauty out. What you consume becomes you.

She threatens to love them like this forever    in pieces  flabby patchwork of his  lost sheet music

So let’s collect our birthed things, no matter / how small or useless, & store them on museum / shelves.

He was asking me / to read his mind / and smell him, acquire memories / with him / that would float through my life with me.

Come morning, a blankness— / what was once the sky and is now / an answer.