summer is so parking break
static, ascendant
tires bald and turned toward the red curb
watching the clock I guess
time wears hurt, fitted
to the minute hand
it rides and still,
I want the evening to be huge
for dusk to hold
once, I never missed it
when the moon was bright and cut by phone wires
the days were full circles with meeting ends
today my exhaust pipe drags
scraping the red curbs back natural
why not diagnose the whole city?
feelings fall out my new boots
and a paper skirt shows me
a circle of pictures that spill
into dreams— liquid,
federal, half legible,
night,
cross the border both ways
without
words, the heavy stones I roll
organic and incorrect I can’t
find sexy let alone true
so where is language in its inundation
a cup full of caution tape
an insufficient sadness
memories double exposed
with total concrete
and softening tar
how free do you think?
late June cut late July
sick, and the day
unhooks me
the way the world looks
all its things hot
burning holes to their fine print
