Seventeen
i pretended i knew how to dance, pretended that to dance was to sway beatlessly on my roof after midnight, seen only by the night sky and the catholic church.
Some Vandalisms
walking along the lakefront, we found a language we both could speak / of women and drugs and slow sticky summers.
Fables and Proverbs
and then it’s all popsicle-flavored forgetting / retrograde amnesia / every day we’ll fall in love with the yellow sky all over again