yesterday I swallowed a solar system, put on my boots, didn’t say goodnight to anyone

from bed, through the window, a rhombus of birds on parallel lines

today I sketched the square roots of my favorite numbers, brushed my teeth, chattered over coffee: I held the umbrella (rain)

I opened a book, I opened two books, then walked the tracks to just outside the city, smoked a joint

belly flops are obtuse with beauty – the swagger of thunder begins in the heels – goldenrod and the last of the tee shirts

tomorrow the hours will wear a cursive necktie into the distance of lost handclaps

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