Sunday, November 21, 2021

leaving a small mark

forever, the lucky white lies
inside a neverending day
there are nervous words 
for most of this

I hear you saved me a plate
and become an avalanche 
crashing with applause
my mouth a riot 

praying for the day to soften 
nursing its rotten return--
what might not happen 
after I reread this

No comments:

sometimes, and in some places, I can see the long journey old men make

we're not even thinking of marriage... just looking for the best biriyani in Queens--  we're still in New York but it feels like  we...