My mother is a ferocity on the Hilton Hotel roof

a false falcon

skateboarders propelled by car mirror

glide past like ducks in migration

down at the harbor boats button up

a croaker throws green

body from iron water

mad saint’s pink brain with terrible blue agency

it keeps me up the problem

written on the surface

what the boat and the fish and the splash are

my pulse is also

its own relic

moon spreads its bar cloth over the city

smoke fills the hotel room

a crumbled novel stoned and solved

from the plaza I hear interstate’s small coffee

the farther I run from it

let me say this traveling’s hard

plum blossoms cover the basketball court

foil from my shawarma falls to the floor