11:01 AM

Pillars of spit hold up the Coliseum in your heart.

Everyone seems so powerfully in transit
these days, and with
no clear path. Where go the wanderers? I dance
the only way I know how, shifting
and avoiding the others. You've got
eyes like scythes
some mornings, and I catch
the backlash
of your mother's phone call
that afternoon if I can't get you
to forget, but
your arms are some of the tightest I've ever had
to hide me, and you're a lover
in your own right.