Neither the North

Neither the north

nor the south

sidewalk

of

Market Street

offered Claire any

shade as she wandered

west from her final encounter

with her boyfriend,

who’d

recused

himself from their

future. She removed

her gray hoodie and strode

on wearing only

a red tank

top

above her tight

black jeans, delighting

an afternoon of strangers.

Pretending

Pretending

I am

poor, I wash

the ziploc bag, dirty

with grease and brown

toast

bits

from

the grilled cheese

sandwich I made for

work. There is construction

happening

every

weekday

morning, outside

my window, in the patient

earth. Demolition is Truth,

I espy in black letters

on the foreman’s

yellow shirt.

He’s

not pretending.

Before Repainting the Black

Before repainting the black

iron railing alongside

the slate

stoop

in

front

of the house, Jake

had to clean and sand

it, per his father’s

instructions.

Rust

and filth and cobwebs

flourished in the underneath

grooves

and

other

crevices

of the floral

and spiral designs—all

of which had been

invisible

prior

to the task.

One Thing Is (After Miranda July)

One thing is

that

I’m wild,

remembered the body

awake beside its

sleeping

counterpart.

This

recollection

of the inevitability

of

self

was a grace. The

soul

awoke

to the music

of this consciousness.

“It’s okay,” she

said,

intuiting all. “I’m

wild too. Why

do you think

I chose

you?”

Wondering dawn

was

far

off.

I Guess I Assumed

I guess I assumed

a flying fuck

was

a ghost

of a metaphor

some

irishman

or other made

up

for

amusement; until I saw

it happen

in

the air

above the Lincoln

Reservoir in Cal Anderson

Park

as

two

dragonflies

were prodigiously

unified

in a part

of speechlessness mid

being

and becoming. Looked

kinda

fun.

Boris the Australopithecus

Boris the Australopithecus

watched

the pleasing

form of the female

of the subsequent species

dash

across

the savannah, like

a thought or a feeling, into

the brush, disappearing

from

his desire

and reappearing

in

his

vague

memory. He grunted the story

later to his brothers in the

tree, so

as

not

to lose

the mystery.

Because She Couldn’t Remember

Because she couldn’t remember

the name of the website

where she had

started

reading

an article

on the absence

of genuine feeling

in Wes Anderson’s movies

since The Royal Tennenbaums,

Claire

went

rummaging

through the History

tab on the browser, where

she discovered several

fascinating sites

her normally

diligent

husband

must have

forgotten to Clear.

Clearly You

Clearly you

and I

are fading

into the last

love,

with an abiding

heart of openness

to

small. The snarling

of skin is

rarer

in this bright

but still

there

to

bruise

intentions. Which is

why I worship

beneath

a

Bodhi crucifix,

most

days, in

expectation of

failing

to

grace, in the attention

to breath.

There Is No Healing

There is no healing

the argument

with air

unless

it’s a beautiful

displacement with

an auspicious spirit. I watch

for the justification of the loud

activity

of Caterpillars

and Cranes in the vacant

lot next to my 100-year-

old apartment

building, aged in brick

to a dilapidated, gritty

grandeur, having

survived no

doubt

its

own

imperative.