IBTATAYAW

there is a little part of me

that wants to see my loved ones fail. I used to feel guilty

about absolutely nothing until I had something

to really feel guilty about – what’s better –

the appetizer sampler glistening geraniums

or the NY strip with the signature sides?

I’ve decided

life hides where fire can’t reach

& I want no part of that life


*


sometimes I think about donating

everything I’ve stolen

but I wouldn’t be left with much. There’s

dreams about not being allowed to call you

& dreams where we’re cartwheeling

epiphanies. Do you know how much I hate

hearing about dreams? As much as I hate

poems that mention the word poem


*


you move away from the pain – not

because you’re smart, because it hurts

so damn much. & that’s how nerves work.

You drive & drive because

the car is the only private space left in America –

unburdened by philanthropy & terrible sculpture.

The stereo is good, too


*


parking


*


overcast Christmas,

you sit under the monument dedicated

to the first skateboard

where the skateboarders come & marvel.

They smoke expensive cigarette made from

owls nests & they bank bashful stares

under hoodies.

We admire them because they only compete

against themselves



*


you text:

meet me there

I text:

IBTATAYAW

you text:

what the hell does that mean?

I text:

I’ll tell you when I see you next