You thought you’d get away with it:
Choking ships in the slanted sheets of your wind-blown rage
or teasing starving farmers, a dry cloud scattering shadows
over browning maize. You planted loneliness
into planks of houses, stroking windows with feigned sympathy
as every neighbor’s neighbor peered out into your grayness,
foreheads pressed against glass. 

At the wrong moment. I confessed I could not
measure the ebbing of a glance, the tumbling
of a voice, as  the orange glow caught the pride
of old wood lacquered smooth so any finger can
trace a splash of spilt whiskey into any name
the memory gives as the music closes down. 

You thought you’d get away with it:
Choking ships in the slanted sheets of your wind-blown rage
or teasing starving farmers, a dry cloud scattering shadows
over browning maize. 

Listening to a conversation in another language,
it’s tempting to infer intrigue—to make-believe
a measure of depth, an element of romance.

He wants to discuss evolution or
The trajectory of some movement
Musical, historical, Christian
And bores through the topic
Like a drone 

Listening to a conversation in another language,
it’s tempting to infer intrigue—to make-believe
a measure of depth, an element of romance. 

You play hangman
on the orphanage steps

in turn guessing words
with children who wear

Witness the kiss upon his brow
while he navigates a narrow chasm
deep within an exponential dream
that challenges his vision no less
than some ruthless scam.

We know what she does not—
the crow, the horrid hop,
the jungle gym a host of claws. 

And what of the inevitable pitiless
typhoon now well on its way?