You’ll find me in the window though under shade of trees, wondering about my love of tall broad oaks and the manner of the sun in the blue spruce. About men of two dimensions simultaneous to three, always vibrating. You’ll find me oxidized and open wide, yet rust resistant, all the way by accident and possibly pride, brewing slowly and lukewarm like a mint, patient for my next form, my next occasion to gaze forlorn between the panes.

On the farm I would take last season’s Penney’s catalogue into the woods.

The heart

The heart / splits open like / a frost flower—

Smelling Static

He was the first time I saw two boys kiss, lying there on my stomach, head two feet from the screen.


I cannot seem to document
my own life