Hammer to a copper bowl,
someone left the light on.
Touch against the thin wrist
skin, and back again, and back
again. Can't find the vein.
Alack A Day
Stiffing a filigree leaf, ribs
align in alternity. Drop
me a line, I am leaving—
the har-dee-har men come soon.
And once they are here, they are.
Soon the alterations are finished;
she mends where fray yields to fringe.
Wet thread creaks the slit like
chalk on a board. There's
no sense closing your ears.
You're just like the other, someone
said. I hear you, but where
are my shoes? I've looked every
where. I've looked high and low
and my feet are cold, and bare.