Open or Closed

Who will build
the hotel to house all
the souvenir

heroes stacked
against that cellar
door? That perfectly
framed cellar door. One more

time, and I could go
to heaven
where I wouldn’t care
about that pile

of bones and springs and fascia and tentacles
and fins and feet and hair and eyes.
The ones staring
past mine.



I always forget the part
where you yell at my answering machine:

If you ever darken
my doorstep again,
you’ll regret it
till the day . . .

Now I remember.
Have it recorded on tape
along with the first words . . .

Not everything
you utter is
worth repeating. We all

risk becoming

This isn’t some geography lesson
about North
Korean borders.

. . . you said to me
. . . you die.