I had a stroke and I’m not me.
I’ve been disfigured horribly.
Little did you know that I

The technician squeezes the bulb to tighten the cuff
To take my blood pressure for a second time today
Next to the professional scales I stood on that showed I weighed enough

You wonder who in the world are the people who actually use stool cards.
They’re the very same scum who sell drugs to little kids in school yards.
The doctor tells you do this, do that.

On the other side of the street, the buildings sit on smoke,
About to lift off—it’s spring!
Cosmonauts and astronauts comfortably in their apartments in armchairs

My mind went on composing its account at night,
I could hear it tracing glyphs on the hard substance

Discretion is the very soul of your pants pocket:
first, because your pocket hides whatever you put in it,

The economical ikebana
of the lesser octopus
is disarming,

In a deck chair
under castellated clouds
Campari and tonic

Not days of anger
but days of irritation,
light through dirty glass,

There’s a woman
walks through me
sits at the table