Leak
Amber water dripping from the ceiling–
inadequacies from above. Last night I drank
a strawberry margarita & saw on your father
the face of your sister. He poked a hole in the tile
with a ballpoint pen. Asked for a hammer
nails or a screwdriver & we had none. The
rain at war with this city flooding three days &
I face temperance by drinking less & choose
games at bars we fold up at the end of each
loss then go home to watch movies because
the self grows this way forward. You study
heavy books I lay on the rock futon in our guest
room far from the tarp across our bed & the new
carpet stained from what we cannot stop. Water
follows least resistance the contractor says.
I need small emergencies to seal these gaps.
Phases of Education
I.
Brain predates flame. Fish’ll
wiggle the net. Swan
in the parking lot– precocious
ego! Always young, forever
pond. The foundation
of every shallow,
labored breathing.
II.
Milkbox, crate,
glass vociferation,
chalk fingernails
the canister and broken.
III.
I understand nothing
but gold and calligraphy
across a diploma. Pretentious–
lift the veil of spider-dress,
eat fish eggs until night
sickness, then Spam
in kitchen cabinets–
IV.
Review of the world:
a loquacious life of limestone.
Spies
My paranoia speaks to me:
If you can’t tell me you bought
a nice shirt, what else are you
hiding? I walked outside
this morning to see crows
perched on power lines.
It’s the middle of winter
and this hemisphere is
supposed to be birdless.
And I read surveillance is
on the rise, that I should shine
my flashlight in the rooms
of AirBnBs and seek
a strange reflection.
But I can’t stop looking
at myself in the mirror.
I’m manufactured– hair
gelled, clothes pressed.
In the reflected light I
can’t find myself, just
a strange reflection.