What’s there can fit in a hand. Take, for example,
the lines in a hand that years have called forth.
You can’t be around nothing, thank God. On an ocean
liner, people cling to one another. On an ocean liner,
people turn away. At the heart of the matter
a slow heart beats. I’m frothing at the bit.
Dear computer, please live one more year.
Minister of Loping Through One’s Twenties
Like a Three-Legged Dog, I’d like to make a deposition:
I’ve slept in the tall grass while someone mowed
the lawn. Some days I wake up less, wake up missing,
knotted or stripped to the wire. Tell me anything
in your best foghorn voice and I’ll believe you.