youletting your hair growthat urge to be unaccountablecold weather a thing of the pastanother thing that changedthat you didn’t changean ice cube drops to the floorit doesn’t shatterit melts into infinite piecesok, maybe not infinite

My moon is not my honeymoon.
The real truth about me
is not the wine-induced truth
(98 points) but
instead something dusty in the magazine aisle
with my name as the title
only one issue put out
couldn't sell enough ads.

Stay the night with me, Moon.
Vonnegut breathed the air of Dresden and saw you.
You and the city looked the same.

A man wearing sunglasses
and a very orange cap
looked at it once but put it down.
Was he my father?
Questions, yes, questions.
There will be five minutes for questions.

Help, Freud.
Sometimes a banana is just a banana.
Even when it sells for a dollar
in this convenient store of me before sleep,
six times the price if you bought it online.

I keep thinking about that Venetian
boat ride I never went on, the one
where I’m drinking wine and mingling
with people from all over the world.
As I lie here and tune in Denver

Another night
Another night

And memoirs don’t inspire.

It was a bloody nightbombs blew all throughout Baghdadand here at homesomething got at our resident rabbitstrewing its fur all across the yardand leaving it to die, partially eaten, under the deck.We’ve all got wars we’re fightingnot all of them take billions of dollarsor thousands of men.It’s true Mr. PresidentThe end can be as simpleas … Continue reading Easter Supplemental 2007