the remedy

sometimes you trudge to
the train and walk a bunch of
blocks all by yourself

shuffle, really, cause
you're feeling pretty lonesome
and it's cold enough

to make your fingers
clench even though they're plunged deep
into your pockets,

then you duck through a
new door to dine with new friends
and realize that the

only thing you needed
was some kindness and maybe
a well-made Pimm's cup.

'all of the pageantry, none of the guilt'

when you're gone, this place,
it's a fucking church. silent
and slightly scary.

piles of socks, folded
like hands in prayer, candles
lit in observance

of our nightly vice,
surfaces immaculate,
scoured, fit for gods.

alone, it's empty
pageantry, in need of our
choirs of laughter

ringing with blood and
wine and noise to flush some life
into this stillness.

"I love this lamp, why?"

Mr. Mister sits
in silhouette beside his
most favorite lamp;

his back is turned and
I watch him lovingly
as he sips his wine.

flying solo tonight

sunset accented
by a tequila sunrise
pathetic, blissful.

today this one's for Laura.

today my sister

is sad. i want to cover

her tight with myself,

a warm blanket of

sister, new skin, a sort of womb,

loving and alive,

a greenhouse so that

her wild, intoxicating

flowers can grow tall.