Unlike other vehicles, not once does the man ever slow or stop to offer a ride. Not once must the dog shift from the front-seat view of the road’s horizon to share space with the children they pass.

We sit and watch the chickadees in the feeder, / drinking hot tea, a celebration of security / with dusk’s familiar arrival.

She knew, from her own observation of men, that to pretend to be macho was very difficult. She was so glad that she was not a man that she even called her daughter "Glad-I-am-not-a-man"

they don’t rise or fall. they’re framed / on the walls. driftless syllables ornamental / and motionless.

After I dropped her off, I lit a cigarette and blasted shit that could most generously be described as coffeehouse punk on my way out of the suburbs. I love people, but I’m also a little relieved when they go.

we are the dumpster fire we encircle to warm our greedy hands in the dark

Every fart, / burp and feces, the body’s / speech. What a triumph / to royal your own musk.

But while we glorified our dead poets, the living ones mostly got on our nerves, with all their boozing and grumbling. So when the country of Slovenia was born, we were finally able to openly despise our poets, poetry, and art in general, that entire freak show of inebriated lunatics who think they’re superior to everyone else.

I haven’t been writing really but I’ve been / thinking about the words, “Palm Rose.”