going to see them

we’re going to see them
in the back of the car
reading a book with the little light on
with my sister asleep and no radio
the curves of the foothills
making my eyelids lazy



Huddled her up, in his arms in the middle of the night. He woke up constantly.
Wouldn’t have known it had it gone by. Had his head on her chest when the record revolved around and sounds came from a box setting on the floor. The songs floated out so when they came a sigh sounded the weight of significance.
He was sure he should be in his own bed.


Can I tell you much about how all of those things we talked about?
I feel misunderstanding.
I had it all written down so I wouldn’t have to remember.

like her book of poems

Like her book poems, tossed on the floor
it was funny. she always read fiction
studied the Faulkner’s and that
but thought plays were her thing
so she thought up characters with accents that weren’t hers
put her ear to the ground and lifted
took the idea of the fallen star
and dimmed it
never said she was sorry
never thought she was walking out with it
needing to leave the dollar fifty



in the home

Got that walking in on something feeling. Fields and awkward quiet sniffles. It's a welcome disguised as hate. The air moves around at different speeds and it's too cold one minute until the heat comes up and then it's just warm enough before it's too hot. The sweat bleeds through fast enough not to notice. Empty drives in the country dark make the young rustle under and over however many panic and whispers.

Who tells it to you that way that you listen?

It's the mother of all invention.

He's away in an alley on a bicycle somewhere. He's come back when he's good and ready.