a lone narcissus. memory of a voice
my chest (a breast that vibrates) home
familiar sound. guitar. one of my mothers
crying me to sleep

attention feeds itself. the current task
demands attention. attention applies
attention to the task at hand. attention
readies itself. attention!

“–Choose love, for love is full of children,
Full of choices…”
–Delmore Schwartz

i’m embarrassed to blather on about my work
–how every day is a party, and the healing
power of having 200 smiling siblings
–but i’ve gone and done it anyway

the radio mind is loud tonight, and soulful
guiding my steps through twilit streets
drunk on datura and roses, i nearly trip over
a raccoon, who doesn’t appear to mind

the tea! the web of musical relationships!
the sleepless night before, digesting
the vastness of cruelty! you needn’t have shared these with me
to know how the heart can pound!

all my kindest thoughts i learned from kindness
no bully beat them into me
deprive a man of love (there’s a good reason?)
and what would one expect?

the moon that fills my eyes: that’s only the beginning
it pulls on, warms and quickens all
my water. curious optimism. like a breast,
a faithful home for thirst

neighborhood phrasebook: “punk-ass” “yo’ mama’s a ho’”
“whattya lookin’ at, bitch” “whatta you
walkin’ away fo’, bitch” “you a stupid-ass nigga”
“why you gotta disrespect me?”

i slink off into the night, my eyes askance
closing the door gently so as not to be heard
after dreamfulls of drunken caresses, i return to my notebook
guilt-wracked, and reeking of cinema

in the hour before my bedtime, when i’m looking
back upon the day, depleted
my housemate brings me a sweet, handmade by his mother
with peanut butter and late-spring greens