My brother doesn’t remember all of it / and I don’t either. Between us // most of that day is lost.

a man is swallowing his penis and turning into a flower. I thought I could sit down / and burn a hole through my suffering by sheer focus. I got distracted.

That year? I smell it mostly in the smoke of one long joint / after another in parked cars next to emptied pools / on summer days, days that burned into night, believing / one turn of the key and I could drive away.

in the auditorium of several neighboring windows / I see a single moth / as old and miserable as the world

Kaddish is Aramaic for “holy.” / What could be more holy than a good person? / My mother put a magnifying glass up to God.

So now you know why I have a habit of collecting broken lines of code / For necklaces or passwords from handwritten recipes like darts dozing / In a traveling case.

Thick summer air / that warms what it chokes, and chokes what it warms. / The locked cage of a lover’s arms. And above us, the / cool prison of the Lord’s regard. What to call this - / the hatred of the earth-bound / for the sky?

I wanted to know how “good poets” / turn pissing off of the back of a boat / into something worth reading

I see Heathcliff / slink out of the forest / in the morning mist.