Someone’s going to dream about this.
Head in the second house, the body
centered: a brick, a bar,
equidistant from two gringos.
We were about to go somewhere else
when an alarm began to signal
“In that photo”—it tells me— “fix
the pit stains on my shirt.”
Climate change is listening
to summer’s hit song
in the winter.
A word like antiretroviral
in even the most visionary poem. READ MORE…