estate a thin maze’s languor
its play-by-play on each lip’s
in sway with dusk’s beleaguered
dreams
dreams of this duck’s fount
I hate this language
says the real bartender
in the Bechtel dining car
our signatures’ connections
evolved two into one
where one is this event
equals two of us altogether in
the grackles’ wanted fountain
folks like us kisses our
pillow lips jubilate as we
hugs dusk’s hacked dreams
