Mostly, I’m Restless

“I remember making love on a Sunday.”



Ask existential questions.

Feel the fragile weight.

A turned ankle.


Am I teaching my son the worst of myself?


Wrong turn.

Caruso can’t sing from the Amazon.


I got addicted at an early age.

Soaking fog.

A distant kind.

Making love to skin, so translucent.


See-through bride.

Succinct in the mirror.

The late-sender of facts.

My life as trade.

Washed in a river of solid waste.


Whatever needs to be done.

Licks of flame.

Sorrow filled.

We cave of science.

Of science we leave.


The motion of our hands.

Sound as air is broken.

Tragedy in our throats.

Trapped in eyeglasses.

Perfect squares.


Placed, you can’t reach them.

Things are just not worth what was saved for them.


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