“You will crush our enemies or I will crush you,” the voice commanded. “These are my neighbors,” I said. “I don’t get along with most of them, but I wouldn’t want to crush them.” “It’s them or you,” the voice said.

Little Shorts, sharpen your keys and clutch them like knives. // When you’ve got nothing else, go for the eyes.

He sang / like a gas station on a black summer night.

you stand a long time / by the creek, then / feed it two pennies, / one for you, one / for the love / inside you that / you can do nothing / with or about.

A talisman against the agony / in his knees and hips // for which he was taking / black-market fentanyl

I greet your gliding flight O wings of death / But there are other signs too

realizing that the horizon is a line constituting an intersection between at least two systems, the inner and the outer one. Between an observer on the move and the roads within the landscape ...

the story / the two white women will not retract, despite the fact / that inside each story we tell another writes itself

the intoxicating ministry of dusk, the anchor of daylight lifting, sheets white / like a freshly crushed pill, // the vortex of the body and the clap of the / coral tongue...