Dorchester, MA

Penguin lacemakers huddle
around the icehole.  Don't laugh
do you know how?

*

She wants a fricassee, thus she will
soon be one.  I gather the
ingredients.

*

Cherrycast: to cherrypick the forecast

*

furtive tide laps in on one clock,
shameless tide another.  At low
tide of which will you dig your dinner?

Humidity: mold creeps up my dermis.

*

One small shell bleached white
spinning empty through space.

*

A new postage stamp honoring
the bartender: gin-flavored
adhesive.  Not sold to under 18.

*

In the time it takes me to write
two lines, you will have breathed twice,
in three lines, your heart beat nine times,
flushing a quart or so of human blood—
more each letter—through the words
of this poem, an artificial heart.

*

Iona: an island where I own
nothing.

*

After the dharma talk, the monks
file out the public library after the one
whose lineage extends to Gautama.  It
is one monk's job to make sure
all their long brown robes are tucked in
before sliding the van door shut.