from the collection Blue on Blue Ground
Psalm: West Virginia
I press my feet to the window, squash birds like ants with my toes.
The phone is a tumor refusing to ring in the part of my brain that wants things.
I kept you tight as tupperware, and I'm sorry. I finally understand:
We eat and we fuck and we bury each other, and not a goddamn thing
I can do about that. I'm scattered like freckles. I'm lost as a wallet.
I'm the neighbor's blue pickup broke down. Come home. Come home.