I slept in the back seat like a bad thought.

And Cathay was not China.
And Vietnam was not China
Nor made in China—but close enough.

He will teach me how to seduce
Men, stags, double-winged angels

between brownstones
where yearning
confesses its nature

but no one is always on your side
not even a poet

I am we: space the gift,
a white sprit of motion—

and I would lean in close and tell you that John Wick kills women like
he’s read feminist theory

Smoking a dart, I said.
I just met my first bird.

Born of a sharpness, and set to music.

In my hat I sit
in my cellar
waiting