from Downtown Brooklyn #8

SO TALL HER EYES WERE BROWN

called on her carpet to murmur my loving and
hide my human head in awe
hands pocketed you half-smile but
you don't know the half of it from six

last night to seven this morning
helping to juggle stupid overdose news we
laughed nervously and averted glances all
evening trying not to touch one another
or burn our hands this strange religion

of ours means reaching to brush but never quite
brushing eyelashes across an endless table and you

say the thing she tricked you on is
she would never ever kill herself man I mean
it always works out but even
though that's a certainty it's always
a surprise when it happens look

we communicate in a series of schemings and
honorably or not convoluted
politeness is taken quite literally but still
has to rhyme with the death of it


BOATHOUSE ROW, PHILADELPHIA

dear you, thanks for the card, the boathouse looks very comfortable, I am glad you have found a place to sleep at night, it is so important, you know, the way the electric

lights outline the roof and the windows and the eaves, and though it makes your new home stand out, visible against the dark background of the trees, upon that hunkered-down hill, it must keep you awake at night, listening

listening to the splash of the water, against the pilings, outside your window, planning what to say tomorrow about Romeo, wondering how to explain that it's possible to hate and love in the same body


AND THEN THE MOST NORMAL THING HAPPENED

One can imagine alternatives every step of the way

I think it would be better to die suddenly than an ounce at a time

Deals are struck with every wink of every eye at every table

I make an appointment and immediately regret it

The houseplants flutter on the windowsill

You hold me away from comfort

There are at the end of the day only intransitive verbs piled upon intransitive verbs—a list of things to do

I screen the call then call right back, pretending I just came in the door, knowing I'm quite transparent

We are kept awake, music filtering through the leaves outside our window

The cashier, a famous out-of-work poet, tells me I have confessions to make to myself

Friendship can be defined as a space with total sonority

Conversation opens up like a revolving door and we end up back where we started, in different light