to say to me. Tumble into my
arms, so to speak, and I’ll
carry you gently to a
choice swath of real estate,
the deed of which just hopped a
plane to Istanbul (where an
old flame is later mugged,
twice in one day). Fall on me
heavily, like a train wreck.
And so much time passes.
We’ll walk around wounded
in the drizzle, hand-in-hand,
then go home and sleep through
the morning’s meetings. Wait
patiently for a masterpiece
because you are good like that.
Mistake Lucy Lawless for
Jewel as your forearms slam
deeply into my chest, knocking
me into what was supposed to be
the End-up, a Saturday retribution,
a date with Purple Monkey at
the Berkeley BART station, and
further into Panda Express, where
I meet a guy from Toronto
and awaken in a Scottish loft
near Lake Merritt (very good;
made me cry several tears).
