Sick Day in the still working hours, this place satin its own plasma hustling its rentedland to no one, silence on crunchy roads mostly up to theirelbows in racket and blaring commotion, people and dogs and metal stirring.starved hills, stairway carcases, seized up cars. it pined, held its fire& was itself completely on earth’s shallow…

The Little One is a madam, is more parrotthan fluffy bunny, more myselfclotted. Is the drink of the sky, thevisitor of my life. Wakes my metal heart withgaping cries and trancelike silence. Allair on my hips but she loves me darkto the bone. She stays close forlong, wet kisses warming me as I write this.Small…

Photo by Ben Allan on Unsplash         Not Harlem but Close   The place that produced me was heavy as the heavens. Its tiger tooth pinched monthly, sinking into us one bill at a time we emptied our pockets and dreams into a concrete bowl and ate the contents. The ceiling peeled,…