from ration to september,
sweat to sweet,
like caramel covered pretzels.
you can play coy
as the year goes by,
but I will be forward
and thinking about lead.
tattoos will be deleted
and resurrected,
time and taste again,
but trying is all we have for being.
do your temples tap
when blood flow
and forgotten forgiveness
flood your today?
it's weird
to still be here,
still hammerschlaging poems
for you for good or ill.
getting ready for the next book
while Rob is at the US Open,
and silence still makes me
want to pick my boogers.