my mother was an engineer

i am happy to hear the breeze blow by

somewhere icy Wind slaps dry eyes

somewhere husbands beat wives unconscious with hairbrushes

somewhere charlie chaplin juggles grenades

somewhere fish swim to the torches of hungry, spearbearing men

somewhere strings hold up rows of lightbulbs

somewhere strings hold up tree stumps

i am happy to see the pink clouds scratch the great blue back of Night. 

I don't believe in you

2009 and

sometimes we pronounced the names of lovers, parted lips, drew close covers, folded arms, and put our hands between our legs. Once, we struggled with our clothing, stripped our bodies, mirror loathing, ordered coffee, drank our future with the dregs (read our futures in the dregs)

now a cloud looks like a cloud

and a hill looks like a mountain