Greenwich, Connecticut 2007When I was a boy—a false boy—language was / scattered: birdseed from the backyard feeder / on the reverend’s tongue. Soft, careful stirring of wings, soft settling / of scripture in the low grass—before / the other boys leapt from their pews / to collect meaning in the pastel bowls / of polos. …
Inner Sunset San Francisco 2019I would be ashamed to die this way: monarch pinned to his back seat, ashamed for my last light to be this tapering August, this avenue pressing through the fog of the blindfold the man’s fashionedto keep me unseeing. The turn down Frederick: streetlights, morepins, I feel them prick my skin. …