I didn’t understand before
how a mango can burn—

A pie-eating contest. Number three
has berries charging down his
bare beefy chest, not a hair

Strangers come to caretake and her tongue
lies large and quiet in its crook.

You’re shadow and light,
a composition of tonalities.

Night has dropped its black gelatin
on New York City—scattered aureoles
of windows. Snow

the only other A student who hated
the pat refrain diplomacy created
was my rival Chaka Washington.

The hearts in his cafe were mostly warm,
but had to speak to make it evident

We have mastered the mysterious art
of harming those we claim to love the most

How does one know an El Greco?
I can’t say, but I just know

Now, in another part of the country,
I hear it called “staying over.”