the name of how music plays / often means what it is: A record — a witness; a cassette — a small blank conch. I rewind / this track every time / I want to feel ice / shaking off wings — I say, “I want to see Paris,” & mean / I have never / made love. I remember / the laughter, the years / of blissful know-nothing / enchante as love scrawled on / Post-It notes. A mixtape — a shot / to the heart. The Ocean — a Lincoln lost / on its way Pacific. Carefully clicking on the sea / change of its own composition — the bullet / pops the clip of the deck; the crack / of a knee’s crease pulling from leather / bucket seats. & as I tune / to the east, the Ocean plays / stations westward; envisions / the gleam of ward rooftops is actually coast.

Flight Path

“And know it takes / distraction. Know about self”

low contrast

“woodchip super fortress / paradise and full of veins / take it nude and shoeless”

What Stood Out

“The job would be easy. That's what everyone said.”