1590

it’s late enough.

Tory holds her face to the oven.

I see what you mean.

Some signs and erratic graphs.

I’d rather live in dreams.

It’s just silent or a letter

from shame. I got dizzy writing

that sentence.

Why knock

when the room is always full?

She can’t remember anything at all

but the burning apartment rooms

blue and loud.

I woke in a tropical breath

black and wet.

I don’t mind her.

She’s dancing into me

slowed in love.

Now the jazz singer sings.