1990

The looking turned to sleep
and the sleeping was so thin:

unfreighted by memories
of half-remembered dreams,

before becoming lead vests
worn during doctor visits,

before looking like linen
winding sheets, what we

wrapped ourselves in
was not to keep ourselves

from being burned alive
by another weekday dawn.


Famine

Lines criss-cross the block
a ledger of feasts

the system of roads

saves the backyards for pets
we're responsible for

smoking hair

curled upon the neck
dolls toppled

for loss of momentum

the incompatible
waiting angrily

with tattered wings.