city 81 I forget to eat and god says I am swimming * city 82 The sleep I do in my sleep I can't carry this * city 83 My son's wrist Was a flower But vanished
city 80 How quietly they eat This far, even From the birdwatcher's strangled son
city 79 Instead something joins the body And two places Die
city 76 Our waiting and our leaving The moment they meet * city 77 Occasionally the odd ghost that worships blood and glue * city 78 I can't always find the year I believed in god
from nearby 2008 bc I can't stop being old and done with writing NOSTALGIA my father he was in this poem yesterday so deeply that I- damn. they repo even dark.
city 74 In its shadow grief the window in the open Mirror * city 75 Rabbit, microscope, flower. In that order.
city 69 Crow, with seashell * city 70 or 71 The short past of my body in the small of yours A baby chewing on its hand in pile of leaves * city 72 and 73 The boy has one mouse All named Cigarette
city 68 I thought reading would make me attractive to god. I ate slowly, you know? Like blood like time and their ableist Newborns. I wanted the thing that was not the thing. Poems in quiet animals An exodus of unmoved pairings The corpse of a cricket My cricket mind
city 67 Dying, touch will ask to attend the hand's silent film debut
city 64 How is it we know that the subway Wanted to be there * city 65 Soft teeth And that thing your son can do with his shoulder * city 66 A drawer left open in an office is all we need The cult of lost fingers
