A fortune teller once told me,
“Stay silent and you’ll regret it.”
Except Fortune Teller didn’t know
that I don’t regret
that I don’t believe in mistakes

Fortune came
with a weird boy on New Year’s Eve
He was in black, I was in blue
He could feel me

In the company of old friends
Fortune came
bringing warm, sweaty cheer under its arms
a celebration of something or other
We didn’t understand

And on the drunken countdown
I lit his sparkler and mine
He held my drink, she smiled at us
I wished for what I wanted

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My childhood snow globe souvenir
a crack in its bottom-side
leaks drip, drip
forgotten 19 years

A dome of air, plastic,
and dried-up glitter
imitation snow clumps clogging
miniature windows, the Eiffel Tower

I shake the glitter loose
—and glimpse your dusted eyes—
only to let it flop
lifeless and flat
on the blue plastic river.



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I walked down a drunken road
just shy of closing time
the playground silent and bare
without children chasing cats
or mothers chasing children
like before

I walked down a drunken road
where unsteady men stood spitting
pavement slick with road wash water
trading glances, laying an ogle —

I walked down a drunken road
counting the moths under lamplights
glowing orange in the faded morning,
missing five faces, remembering a hundred —

I walked down a drunken road
thinking about my friend
her dead grandma
They’re gettin’ old, they’re gettin’ bad
but I’m all right, don’t you worry
I still see dawn everyday
___I still eat toast with my juice

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all sorrows end with a passage of burn burn burn, a slow whimper, a drawn
moan like black wizard-moths in a cloud wing blaze as it occurs to you
you question, why crumble when you can create shine, blind! forget
precious souls for what is it all in the end but a little heart
a little notch another mark, another smile and all the pretty little dimes and you
cross the road, keel over, sit—cross-legged perspiring under the sun, it burns
blink twice, but no more, for in a blink a thousand snapshots return
and in a chasing frenzy a pause, an innocent rest. a drip of sorrow—your old friend—
visits, gold and fine and ever so tragically beautiful but beauty, you find
in any delectable angle of a body, threads of prism colored lies, perhaps—
you can find beauty in a line of ants climbing their little mountain anthill descending
disappearing one, one, one syncopated march or in a glittering stream
trout leaping and catching the sun in shock sparks why wait, why linger
and yes, why lament when possibility and positivity rattle inside toy chests
of both gone past and coming eager to take you maybe tease, torment but isn’t it
worth it, the terror which seizes you but fades one quiet day


fingers curl around the glass
wet with liquor sweat

eyes glow
caught in a rapture

into the spaces between
his fingers

yellow snakes
and tangle on the wall

I miss the perfection
of his lips
locked layered with mine

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To sail down flooded open streets
with you
greet donkeys in the market alleys
juggle candy red apples
and float rings of wild shooting stars
chase stray dogs
until we can’t run anymore

To nap in the 3 o’clock sun
wedged between cat elbows
and your legs

—I’d gather torn beddings
and make hamster shavings—

To burrow and make drip drip caverns
and slumber in dandelion quilts
with you

Is my small wish
this sunny, something afternoon.