Listening to the thunderstorm move in off the Gulf, the dark half of insomnia on the bookshelf, wake up to lightning next door.

Caramelo's enactment of untranslatable phrases ("What a barbarity!") is related to a young girl's sense of being absent, as she is in the family snapshot on a beach vacation.

Listening to Reves with U. the other night, after avoiding the police by instinct when they broke up a Noise performance in downtown Tampa he'd been told about.

A fake authority, imposed by the brevity and ambition of certain prose (a pose).

On the airplane, most of Nevermind as loud as the earphones allowed, there were other dialogues more than a decade ago but only that one has made it to mainstream dying.

Running into the sun on the sidewalk yesterday morning, before traffic's heaving, round the routine blocks, take this body fake these lines.

On the porch beneath two fans, opening the book to listen, lean toward sleep after the St. Pete Times with coffee.

In the pages of New Collected Poems, a broken repetition outlines the avenue facing this house, the dug-up golf course held together by palm trees and the birds who sign them, affordable rain.

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