recent poems

they use potatoes to hold the news down at the bodega

because the wind would come and move things around into swirls
ugly and unreadable, so potato weights, its like that for our souls
with the sentimental and disprovable attachments to each other
as the weight, to say, would I be here, if all the cupolas of transport
were closing that day, as I love you and yes, yet quest of mind
to be hella extreme as the sun, sitting up there, fiery and right

so i ask dude to lift the potato just a bit sing with me
as you are a house and care as a city bus driver carries me carefully
the seagulls are getting shorter and then, I feel displacement
by being again and over agin in this place, seeing potatoes
wandering into whatevers and where ever evers

so i lay my body by the light
and pull my mind-rope slowly through the conduit
and so hope, aspiring to be lifted
beyond our assymetrical muse to stand and seek love

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