The Verisimilitude of the Love

The verisimilitude of the love

cry

somewhere

southeast of the

shared bathroom, gave

the sleepy

one

a wakeful

thrill of remembrance. He

paused on the threshold

of carelessness

before

returning

to the celerity

of the moment

of

truth, forced to run

to catch up with

that light,

which

never

waits. Don’t hope

for its return.

There Was a Shark

There was a shark

swimming

through

my

feeling

for instance.

There was a dove

resting in my

intention

for

example.

And both animals,

god bless

them,

want

nothing

more glittering

than to survive

my

day

intact, because

they will be necessary

tomorrow, in

my

above, in

my beneath,

in order for precarious

me

to

continue.

Habits of Survival

Jake and two other

soldiers-in-training

were

walking

across an empty

parking lot on the way

to the DFAC

under a purple

pre-dawn sky. “I don’t

know why. She didn’t say,”

said

Jones. “Didn’t you ask

her?” said Jackson. “I guess

I didn’t really want to know.”

“They better have fucking

coffee this morning,”

said

Jake.

The Ancien Régime

The ancien régime

of

Family

is a difficult

graveyard

to

visit

halfheartedly, when

you’re relocated

in

the present.

There should be

at least

one

year

of secondary

school devoted

entirely to the expression

of passive-

aggression,

because

it’s

the lingua franca

of Post-

Sincerity.

Still, every

inclination says

tomorrow the birds

will sing

and I don’t

doubt

it.

A Tiny, Plastic Room

I felt like a clumsy

bird

trying

to trespass

into

a tiny, plastic room,

lit

artificially

and suspended

between the time-space

continuum

and

the myth

of Tantalus. She

was

so

nice

because

I was buying food, or

because it’s Seattle,

or . . . I don’t

know

anymore. I

passed

by

a couple

times, before

the room vanished.

Until You Check

Until you check

your Gmail

account

and

see

there’s

only three

new messages—the

headlines

from

yesterday’s

New York Times, an

invitation to a YDA

rally

3000 miles east, and

a reminder from the

Seattle Public

Library

the book

you haven’t started

on the Eocene

is almost overdue—you

remain in a paradise

of expectancy.

My Great Great Great Great Great Great

My great great great great great great

great great great great great

grandfather

rests

in the Connecticut

River Valley, an ocean

from

his

origin in Essex,

England. I wonder

how tired or agonized

or relieved his

expression

was

at the end. Could he imagine

this descendant curiously

watching

from

an even further

shore, for

clues?

I Clean the Grease

I clean the grease

stain

off

my shirt

with some spit

from my mouth.

It’s easy.

10

minutes

later, the shirt

is dry and spotless.

I go to church

every

weekend

and sometimes

during the week

to clean

the stain

of heartlessness

from my absolute.

It’s

even

easier. For

about

10

minutes, I am

immaculate.