News
has it that late in the month the sun had an outburst

play a little music on the rooftop
get a body good and wet

just go crazy, I say now to the flower

The cat’s alone
and that allows it
to invent itself

While I wrote, a butterfly, that critic, rode my wrist.

The doctor had said he could fix everything
Except the eyes.

I memorized
my whole life in order
to release it

The end of autumn
unfolds in a series of textures and places:
rough towels, the laundry

It will continue to break, and soon, sing, elated by time, after the fact, and failure

As a girl, that’s how you made it
to first base. You didn’t kiss,
you were kissed.