and by sheer coincidence, I find myself—every time!—outside the Gallerie d’Orvalle
We are rarely taught/to speak of it/if it hurts.
the best words are so easy to say, you just go ha ha ha
that which is unspeakable/but written on the inside/of the skin, the shell
My wife is joking about cremation/at the surprise party and we all laugh
We are us, arms and legs emptying a car, elongated tent poles and a thin cord stuck into car lighter, air to fill our beds.
It was a perfect ending./To die for nothing.
a chimpanzee fishes termites with a stick/ but lacks the imagination to whip its young.
we plot the return orbit/ and splash down/ to invoke nostalgia
A certain music has stopped.