The Pillow Was Cold

The pillow was cold

and soft, as

he

lay

in bed

alone and

unlonely, now

that she was gone.

Every dream would be

a path again, and not some

warning, he

thought.

The

empty

wall where

her strangeness

formerly impressed

him, was a shadow

of peace. It was

over, and

his

breath

was all true.

Inappropriate

Inappropriate

relationship,

sting

me,

so

that

I know

why, I’ll never

belong

here.

Pigeon let the sparrow
eat some of these

crumbs,

like in NYC.

It Was Calmer

It was calmer

than
death,

in the night,

after.

I wasn’t shaking
anymore, from

the knifing
cold

of how

untrue.

I stopped being,

finally, you.

Where Did We Go Wrong

Where did we go wrong

pop

song?

You were so tired

in my arms

we

slept

forever,

it was milk

to my otherwise.

Now I prefer white noise
to your exclamations of

easy
sunlight

or easier

declarations

of eternal night.

I’m taking off the sweater
we bought together, and

feeling the air

of
what

essentially.

She Picked Up Tennyson

She picked up Tennyson,

their half-siamese,

gray

cat, and put

him in the bathroom,

so that Andromeda, their

other cat, could finish her food.

Tennyson cried for the Whiskas

that were not his own,

and scratched the

door.

When he grew tired

of himself,

he

noticed

the window,

and saw flickering

nonshadows of everything

beyond.

Ghost of a Spent

Ghost of a spent

whisper,

naked
and woman,

frozen in a window
above the sidewalk,

who was haunting whom

yesterday

around

noon,

broad
in the daylight?

Sure, Love Is

Sure, love is

washing

the

hard-to-reach

outside of

the

window

when it becomes

sooty with earth

particles

of

dark.

But love is also
the strangest
help

feeling
exclamation

danger-belief

touching

the oldest

newest skin

of your exquisite,

where no

one.