Not The Rockefellers

someone tell the night there’s a hole in its pocket & all the tomcats are squabbling through the scraps

take small bites no bigger than an apostrophe  savor them well

if you fell all tangled up by my side i wouldn’t sic the dogs out i’d let you cry til you wrung yourself out bone dry

born wednesday noon night before the fire both of us conceived behind gabriel’s garage corner of elm and pine