’Tis I Master, Francesco, come
to awaken you for noon refreshment.
See how he sleeps; as easily

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

he wouldn’t sell his soul to pay tuition,
instead he was a poet on a mission

The Lord wants me to go to Florida.
I shall cross the border with the mercury thieves,
as foretold in the faxes and prophecies,

but regardless of how the Dowds have gone
none imagined being twice bereft,

I know how they lived; how they mulled it,
baked it, took it for communion

ROCKVILLE,    Md.,    Oct.    23-5:45    A.M.
A    thirteen-year-old    at    883    Post    Oak    Road
(who    wishes    to    remain    anonymous)    began

For such spaces between immodest yellow leaves—
for evidence of air—for the great
diversity of cars that grace side streets

is suspended in agar in sweet cream in
magma in lard;