at the end of the day I was tired and wanted to not think
anymore and to not stare at anything anymore, just
maybe close my eyes and make out with someone but
there was no one to make out with, is this tragic or what;

When I am called to stand
and give account of things,
heart, do not tell the whole story.

Halfway through I was hungry and didn’t
notice when, in the last few lines the mood
shifted, and he mentioned love.

This skewed altitude
is a measure of hazards,
of hasty leaps
and bad timing.

The night is long and smooth

On Laval street where you lived leaves rise twisted in the wind’s snare and building facades shiver— night has a shaded face a cry pressed into frozen vines. On the  [More…]