I want to haunt second hand bookshops.

I wake up you fall asleep make the bed tuck you in beneath

Light to the touch I brush the crumbs off your weight is warm and foggy even though my head is clear early but late morning dark like night water naked to get the smell off sleep sigh slides off the bed I kept my shoes on just In case wait I can’t so tell me each page I have to hold it down to turn it off breathe ordinarily hand over heart still beating.

Lucid and plainly out of sight furnace kicks on I gave you a chance lady were only doing our job.


Chewing his teeth
Conscious of death machines
Perhaps even offering God a cigarette

Having your mind bent

I throw punches and you snatch them from the air and bring them back to me. Wait for me to throw them again. You’re my best friend.

The outline of rooftops makes a jagged edge and I find you a skating rink where scars won’t heal. Clouds seem less real. You have photo appeal. I want her.


I remember your reflection in the glass high above the streets of Chicago where below the traffic made moving ribbons of light across the landscape. I could see the world but I was focused on your reflection, focused on you.

I strongly suggest exercise and a steady regiment of vitamins and supplements. In order to seem coherent and think one thought at a time. I’ve wished for swarms of bees in the past. I collected them in plastic bags to store in the freezer as experiments when I was a child. The sunlight always brought them back to life and I felt as if I had figured out the secret of creation.

We’ve all tried to put the glue back into the bottle.