When a tremendous hand 
reaches from the heavens 
to slather the tips of the trees 
above my house in warm butter.  


a young man sits 
to write a poem 
with a joint and a beer 
like the poets
he likes so much
the point of the joint
and the beer he thinks
is to get very high
and then to ride
this highness 
to uncharted waters . . . 
but after an hour
all the young man
has gone is his chair
the empty beer
and the roach
sitting there with him
as if to say
I’m sorry your highness
this is where the ride ends 


 While folding laundry 
 I forgive every past lover
 for all the hurt they caused.
 Just like that they are absolved
 between the folds of flannel sheets
 my boyfriend hates    says they’re
 for lumberjacks     not gay men 
 I forgive him   too   after the laundry
 in bed together    as he forgives me
 for all the harm we are sure
          to do each other. 

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