Humans live
long in proportion to
what they don’t

Hail the greasy automatons,    each circuit of hunger
traced on linoleum—    toward dishwater and marinara
and back under the radiator.    A commute from airless blind

This is the 31st time I’ve been here,
he says, leaning on a walker.
Even though he’s sitting next to me

They always said it was horrible,       the way the man
who looked like my father died.          Sometimes, it was what
                                                                                                        appeared

I would like to tell you
that I went easily
or that, hand over hand,

The cliffs on this heart-
land lake terrorize me.
Eroding and standing

I suppose I ought to consider the question rhetorical,
or know it simply means, I'd like to know what you've seen.

As a matter of fact, I've been the spider crawling beneath
your sheets, the worm searching your warmth as you sleep,

Meeting his mouth made it so I had house again.
I called him garden and drew him so, grew

         Their flat bodies I held with grave disrespect;
            perhaps this is why I sought them.

How do you find yourself in literature?
All blue-eyed, drinking from green bottles.