took a train to see you and never
came home in the tearducts of my mind we are
arm-wrestling with New Hampshire while you take me
sushi-shopping and sight-seeing but she can't stop
thinking about the top of the chapel praying praying
praying praying praying praying Amen.
hey, I'm not done writing you this poem yet suddenly
we are sitting inside a club listening to an acoustic girl's set and you lean
into my right ear and whiskey whisper that you love how her guitar is so out of
tune but her voice is in shape your dusty twenty buys me a hat that feels like a decorated rubber band around my head and I'll wear it like I wear my shoelaces tied:
two loops, one knot.
Fiction, poetry, and all that good stuff . . .