the angels might get so sad
knowing what I do
as I mourn over you

your ear pressed to the asphalt
listening for further instructions

Everyone in the world,
whatever their disposition,
seemed to be crying at once

The Yangtze River in China lost its nerve
and wanted vengeance.

the summer rolls up its black tongue: from inside the machine 

I affirm my devotion to your ingenious application, allowing you to track my whereabouts across all devices.

The part
that flusters some, that flusters no one.

on the chair shining wet from the rain
still hung a black piece of laundry.

There’s a kind of transformation
That can happen on any day

Both the actual horse on fire      and its event out of these words