cdlxxvii. evening

when evening comes, we take our glasses, break them, sweep up the shards to break them again tomorrow.

cdlxxi. poor speaker

i have a habit of mumbling. my tongue grows thick and i myself can hear how, from my mouth, one word emerges indistinctly into the next, like porridge poured onto another shapeless porridge.

cdlxv. avoiding complications

don’t drink. don’t smoke. don’t sleep around. don’t take drugs if you can help it. do drive safely. stop when the light turns red. there are reasons for such rules.

cdlxiii. the bureaucracy

we are a cold hard part of a necessary process: repeating through the years repeating.

cdxlviii. what is this?

must be the song bending round the corner. must be the rush towards meaning slipping through hoops. must be the positions of aloneness, arms at the side forging relations with the only body known to you.

cdxlvi. on learning to laugh it off

we always speak in rhythms. yeah. we always speak in rhymes. a little game i’ll never break because you’re always on my mind. oh yeah.

cdxliv. my love

and when it gets darker, there will always be the moon: creamy like her skin, heavy like her heart, constant like our love.

cdlxii. i am leaving leaving behind behind

to inhabit this great parenthesis, this asterisk, this magnificent exclamation point. you are my new sentence.

cdlx. ???

who knew the sky was so heavy? who knew speed could catch light’s comeuppance? who knew together they would sag, ruffle, catch, and molt?

cdli. motel room

this room is located far away, at the line where sky meets sea, also nearby at the line where foot meets sea, the near line further than the far line.