O that common verb.
Dress me in spatulas
put the moon around
my neck. Parting air the
poet waves a hand, too
much lace and I wonder
if the trolley’s real, a giant
upside-down flying spoon.
God and hair I knew you
in the Mechanical Age. Now
I am someone who gets off
and on trains with dads and
bags everyday. Look, it’s 4:43
in the afternoon people go
home. My mother wore
Obsession in the eighties.
I smell fire which has no
hands, did you hear me? I
have no horses now. Someone
did not make your sweater,
someone didn’t make it who loves you.