The Regreatening
we don’t owe The Middle-East
any history. that’s why
i’ll be leaving the group
chat. forced perceptions
of the world at the family
dinner. call it laughter.
my eyes adjust to ur evidence
online. where make-shift
information becomes acute
amid the re-Great-ening of
America.
The Punctum
for sarah bodri
a haiku of hydrangeas.
sat sadly at the punctum.
i offer my periphery. stop
to hear it cease. early has
already begun elsewhere.
the bird has now falsely
framed our entire bedroom.
outside the window, where
the honking ride stops to
air its tires out.
Harbourfront
the lake curves
the elite portraiture of the duck.
AND is a plea for imagery. the
generational voice is attuned to
disaster as it swiftly forms around.
in ur hours of reflection, watch urself
become a physical monument
against the night watch urself as
a function of insects in bouts of
turbulence. zest the remedial orange
circling the fruit-fly. a sliver of light
cast across fruit and onto the cat who
naps perfectly aligned, tempering
the worries of the observant heart.
me + u poem
the dark-rain glisten
of tires. long story short: dress shirt. travel gown.
AND is my best instrument. ur foundation
mats my thumb and makes it an instrument.
teeth find me. i swear my clothes to a closet.
subtle distortion of the phone camera leaves
ur smiling face doubled. two quick truths: 1. me
and u aren’t one. 2. the idea of me + u isn’t mine.
