I won’t nudge you
into romance. I know

the flowers are shining
in my eyes like honey.

It is a beautiful day full of friendly townsfolk sharing a moment together
I am the outsider in this storyline, so I am lost before the opening credits stop.
I enter stage left into the coastal town scene.
Will J. B. Fletcher be able to help me find my long time absentee self-worth?

An artist
erased,
clam without
a shell,
closed
sky.

Oh my stupid over-the-knee-boots
always begging for it, some dress
with a zippered front
the beginning & end
of a conversation
about his uneasy wife.

Greet the day
Know it will exact its revenge
For crimes you didn’t even know you committed
But feel guilty for now

you backing out of the driveway they saw you looking
over your shoulder to check the way was clear and from their perch the audience again
and again saw you not seeing them the warm light of the TV you your family the weather

Infinite mystery borne with nightly

cold reflections of stress on the alpha

I swell with locusts in vague pines—

no love-gnosis nor phrase to exalt her—

No, actually, what I mean is this: You're only as safe as every other bastard on the road decides you are, and there's mercy in that. No, sorry, I mean this: You're going faster than they can lay pavement, a roadrunner out where there's no more road. There's nothing wrong with a joyride but I want your headlights in the drive by nine, you hear me?

scent, flamed layers, shades,
each petal heavy ruse,
my pollen’s bold excuse:
all this is just my reach for you,

I will call you a sunfish
golden flash
deep in the blue lake of my heart

There is a closet in Illinois where a sweater hangs
full of holes. Mother moth picked it special
for her kids. Navy, cashmere, a luxury
home for her eggs that wink open
larvae like white stars

healing reaches the limit of hope, that’s when
a life takes off, when meaning comes back, its hand
outstretched to meet yours, curled edge to its smile
less a blade and more the promise
of a mojito along some fairy-lit canal

We give and get our statuses in person—relationship updates
Relayed over mayo-mixed ketchup puddles, news and hopes discussed
Under the comforting buzz of a hundred other cafeteria conversations.

I would kill to smell formaldehyde,
to be in the science lab, to see
the dripping sclera from the eye

of the butchered cow
sterilized for dissection

It is one thing to share sorrows
with someone. The young woman
at CVS has scars on her upper arm

that mirror mine. We are bonded
by these pink knolls of admission:
sometimes, this life isn’t enough.

I make a collage of furnishings

And piece items together,

The sentiment far more important than the color scheme

Or similar woods

Or style of furniture.

when my cheek and sweat
cool against your marbled cliff.
A band of quartz
runs beneath my body,
and colors the scarp and jag.

I take a new, perverse pride as you
once did, swaggering back to school
from your grandmother's kitchen,

lemon tiles studded with plates,
coeur de boeuf tomatoes coloring your face.

This visit will be defined by pink
handlebar streamers,
a glittery bike
helmet, and a white plastic basket made
to look like wicker.

tempestuous youth. Incorrigible
headstrong yet I softened only
for you

you, quiet menace