She christened him Ernie the second/she pulled him from his breathing box and held him jello-like/way up/shaking him a little/a cap of bells/then bringing him down/into what you would call a kiss

I ate pork buns from the Chinese bakery, open
until 8 o’clock, 9th Avenue an opening

to the park, walked from the Muni stop,
grass paths and tulips closing, the sun low in the sky’s open

umbrella.

And I, a tuneless savant, your instrument,
Parked in an allotment on a busy street,
Retching for farthings and second-hand graces,
Savage the legs of strangers, hoping to taste love.

People disappeared daily.  According to one theory, they sprouted wings and flew away.  Militias  tested this, tossing many from aircraft over the Atlantic.

We just quit barking, perplexed
By the unusual silence of our masters.

There are myths about people falling into the water after falling in love
With their own reflections, that the face they saw peering out at them
From the rocky depths of fish-fouled water was so fucking beautiful
That they just had to try to kiss it…

Once, I loved someone
and they left for no reason. I said I
wanted to die but I didn’t. I only
wanted to say it. I guess, thinking back,
there was a reason she left me.

Thought bubble in ink: I can hear someone breathing.
At our family table the breath of blown-out candles.
In my back yard hideout breath of wanting. Breath of secrets.

what ever happened
to just sleeping in
listening to the neighbours
shitting next door
through thin walls
behind music?

I
remember how, when he finished, when he stood up and disappeared, I just
looked up at the sky, softly bleeding, the storm clouds coming in, how even
the sky looked like it was ready to fight