these are all broken objects
images of unsorted sentiment
flesh to flesh or skin
frozen to streetlight on bad
night of plenty
horn player stood in the west
4th tunnel under the
basketball court i returned to late each night from
work to his broken pawnshop sounds echoing on
tile
worked so long at that restaurant I felt the sole witness to the
sax player improving
memory of spending a week's wages on
shoes not for any other reason than to have
a solid memento but even shoes
break and fade or get left in
old homes disintegrate on cheese grater
sidewalks
broken objects that scatter helplessly
points of total recall
long e kisses in the sleeping fountain
at midnight we awaken soaked from
our only night of puppy love
sometimes i think a lot of wet dreams and nightmares
paid for per gram or dose shiver through all aspects
of the self
frogs lilypadding
cross pond mirrors
articulating each
detail in the drifting moss of
time measured in
slow growth
maybe i chose shelf-
space among the broken
objects and memories
found placement
for self-space
box-within-a-box conundrum and
when i find myself carelessly
frolicking in old habits i'm really
bringing in
the shards
of the past for a big
bloody hug
broken objects like
old friend's habits
years later still
creak the door
to instigate the
rotten shit
i did or
merely to
rationalize
when i overstay my
welcome
