Subletter

The key slips,
We asked for a new one.
Small indiscretions
are forgiven.

First Day Of School

Kid burning paper
In the station
At the far end
of the Hoyt-Schermerhorn stop

The smell is innocent
Smoke behind a pillar— mysterious
He is giving
A ritual
cleansing

Murder

Extract my organs and drag them
Across the keys
Till dark blood fills
The cracks

Pools
The pad is flush
The carnage splashes with each tap
The violence hits
The screen

Sojourn

Revolutionary, then
is failure now
the edges may have seeped around
transforming It
from the inside.

we wake like clocks
meet in irregular circles
negotiate minutia that only we can see
and hover around the same tone

Softening ourselves
beside each other, counting
emanating out
Eye am thrust into observation from the imaginary future
as we tap our thighs here,
and we combine, here
ink or oral history
movements, recorded.