You could be writing a journal, all the days of our absence / accounted for. You could be swimming in a lake. / You could be making your confession, the smell of old wood. / You could be reciting poems, the apple not falling far from the tree. / You could be in a hospital bed pumped full of morp...

I see all the black marks on the page, the lines / hallucinations falling off the edge of the world – my tongue / we haven’t talked about desperation, / yet you tell me about pornography, girls with death wishes / attached to their libidos, little warm arrows / aligned to their supple bodies, i...