your turns of phrase
cannot save you:
only my new
powers can.

hear me out. nine times
out of ten, there are only
three-leafed clovers
in the field. the one day

with no horses
was the day
you were with me.
there were deer, though.

did you see them?
they have sequin-
eyes and fragile prances.
it’s a rainy imposition.

i have keratin antlers, too.
you didn’t know that, but
what’s your favorite cover
of tom’s diner? how

far would you go
to see a movie? my questions
are all leading. it’s not my fault
i love to dance. (stop saying

that. i don’t even know how
to play baseball.) later,
we should get palomas
and listen to padam padam

or anything but blur.
what i’m trying
to say is: marginalia’s
where i get my feelings hurt.

(dr. says that the theorists are
my friends, but i know that
already. i would
give them my home. i would

vacate myself to think about
my old apartment, still occupied.)
it goes with a cherry-
white-claw-cut.

you know what they say:
your wrist key,
mine, mere concepts. my first
summer, i spilled whiskey

on the door, staining it
peach. not that it matters,
anymore. i was alone,
reading brian turner

at the bar. i left soon
and keep the leaving
coming. i make idols.
my quarterback eileen

myles knows the going.
we should stop
for gas, get ibuprofen
and red bull. you know,

when i was
in ohio, all i did was spew. it ends
the same. (looking
over the river, avoiding

the highway?) when i was
in indiana, all i did was spew.
when i spewed, out last from
the hotel pool, dancing –

you and i, with our word-wrists,
went tripping – the green butterfly –
the clay charm – the pearl star –
the denim lock.

hot pink clover
on this night we face each other.
you know this
already, i can’t be a good friend

to you, i can’t give you
anything i need. everything unspewed
about me is a bead loop.
the moon, pushing past

the clouds, changes
through the bushes, shadowing
like those party masks.
everything left is a bluff.

the green plastic –
the mile marker –
i’ve never been
the first to leave.