This is not poetry.

Coop

I’m watching
The paint grow old
On the window ledge
Birth spider webs
Peal.

I’m listening
To the tribal calls
Of children
(on) the sidewalk
the Doppler effect
(of) cars in the street.
exhaust.
So tired.

I’m resting,
Soaking in you
V Rays,
Calling (out) to the
Passer“bye.”
He hears “hello”
Through his head.
Phones
And searches for the source.
Discovers
A sudden slope in the side
Walk
trips

I’m perching
In the window
Watching the stranger
In pane
Getting (lights) up
Breaths Dusts
Deep Off
The curb and into the street

I’m screaming
PoSTOPerative
deathWATCH
yOUTth
wasn’t enough
50 miles per hour
killed by the girl in the Coop
and the girl in the coop


Graphite Garden

I planted graphite daisies
On a stark white sheet.
I never intended to soil this space
Used for notes untaken.
Yet when the deed was done
I did go back to watch them bask
Under the rays of fluorescent lights.

I shaded their petals and
Pretending to see the process
Of my hand’s fabricated photosynthesis.
Leaves sprouted sporadically centered
While vines began to curl in the corners
And now this once white vacant sheet
Is my Zone out Garden.

Tomorrow I’ll plant roses.