dry-heaves at the strip mall

you preferred to live under stars that shook

with memory a swift hand folded punching 

your throat. in the library's basement

there are rows of tables on the basis 

that you'll be forgotten. stack the auto-

mechanic journals to the ceiling 

till they fall like dead grey seagulls. 

forget the world when you go camping

love your friends on the slow-pitch infield.

throw spitballs in the setting sun while

your husband drinks molsons on third 

losing hair into the ice box water

drive home loudly playing jack johnson

through your ipod nano. 

snail mail, stainless steel, keep your kitchen 

counter clean. you were baptized by your grandpa. 

you shed tears every winter at the civil war parade. 

diamond sphere privatized eternity spider's web

iron breath will give slack to a familiar collapse.

your husband spits his gum onto the sidewalk

half drunk. he anxiously awaits your lies.