Don’t Say Catalyst

Another city, another black
bird soars over pedestrian

heads. I have one. The least
unease matures into full-on anxiety

about what clouds
won’t hold. I’m not afraid

to fly but do fear those
with the will

to—agents flying, flew, have flown.

Traffic Break

It’s been a year—I wouldn’t turn
to stone or tin
if I ran into you on the sidewalk
in the shadow

of your tower. That we haven’t crossed
paths since we decided to cross
each other off
the list is a sign. Our lanes

weren’t meant to merge
on any slope—slippery or not.


This inner rind is more than a third
place—is the mystery loosened
from its virtual frame. A peaches

crate is just a wooden crate
with spin. The revolutions
per minute for this plane

hum and whir—a fan

for unfurling home’s measures
in one simple night.


Take another day, flip
through pages desperately
seeking a poetic

heliport to land on—damselfly
become aware of what’s precious
turf the way no insect

could. Become the contradiction
you’ve dreamed of
embodying all your life. Chuckle

over the claw
foot tub in the middle
of a bedroom in a rundown apartment

in the middle

of last night’s dream. Just that—the criticism
was a mirage. Plans
to plant a garden inside the porcelain

basin no longer necessary. Nothing’s
real anymore, so do it today—do it now.