Pantone N.25

Tenderness to be noted
urges not to turn back
occupied in beginning
of not know much
improved or unworthy
as it seems misery to
obey without abandoning
the vast disquiet I
was falling/in this state
it will be hard to
speak about as anything
to give without measure
“self-reliance is what
destroyed me.”

Pantone N.66

In my dealings with learned men
I have learned techniques of calm:

chamomile, a poached egg,
and the insistence of a lampshade.

The humming bird, in contrast,
reminds me to placate solitude

with disturbance and insist
on negotiating air as a ripped seam.

My daughter alludes that the chocolate tin
deserves a reprimand from the analog clock.

I ink in tears across my collar
a crisp tribute to a masculine art.

Pantone N.67

Within this alternate universe
things are but a further shadow.

Reaching for your hand
I find myself holding a pencil,

as if you were in an announcement
and I, the typeset.

The moon awakes me,
enunciating this shadow

within moonlight. It’s approximately
2 a.m. The cat, unaware

of his parallel animal status,
purrs past. I’m just

the wretched poet jotting
down these transmissions.

Pantone N.73

Dead fig leaves crash to grass
even in dappled sunlight.
Most occasions do.
Capitalism is an enabler
on an agrarian playlist,
given the ascendant of levees

and habits of water.
My addictions are a
private affair, electricity

to devices or kissing
your wounded sleep.
Trolling for remedies I

have only lightweight
status and a penchant
for the anywhere.