the gods spoke / through the wind / in the trees / submission


a secret meeting / in this place / is its own arrangement


red light / train in the distance / money / a knock on the door


everything i do / was to make / you / an extension / of me


i am lost and i can not find / whatever you meant / whatever you thought / whatever you said

hand pies

we stock up on the hand pies, eating a few hastily as i turn back on US31 as though the hand pies will spill the secrets of the area, the lure, but they never do

obscene lexicon

an obscene lexicon / you uttered in tongues / in the darkness

like apples

words hanging in the air / like apples waiting to be picked

strange perversities

you held me in your arms / but you are always moving / and i am not moving with you

the self assumes

the teller of the truths / you have heard / that you must accept / but the cuts across your wrist / say otherwise


why i’m tired of everyone being from brooklyn