house full of love.
Last night happened
eerily fast, Tim’s last
swap on his way to
Canada by way of
David’s Deli with
Cassie, Jen & Steph,
cheese blintzes, and
fries. We try to
dream up snow
but it comes out
milk. Yet we fill
with loss and soon
enough iPhones,
miniature washing
machines filled with
tiny bones set on spin
cycle. The doughy
walls wobble as if
dancing with the
silt on the blinds,
a dance for 500
friends who never
call. We eat our
words, eat each
others’ ghosts,
we’re dancing
cannibals in love,
hungers sated
with nostalgia:
dirty laundry
and dead cats,
fifty dollar book-
ends, be they
orange or red,
cock or lion,
damaged in the
fire or locked
away inside a
glass heart that
whistles twice
before it shatters.
