I saw Russia while
lying like a
masturbated pancake,
exhausted,
across a
Florida Interstate
From that vulnerable
driveway of death I saw
every vein in my eyelids, and
wildly predicted my life’s ports of call:
Antarctica,
Louisiana,
Cuba,
New York
(always New York City)
grafted flax
bruised quarter
liberal pumpkin
vile condom
thickness of highway thieves
I see 2:27 through the speakers, these
“Wild Nights” that
raged inarticulate in
grade school poetry
return alive to my November
everything is deletable
everything is deleted
in the future all things will be
deleted
Judith Griggs?
deleted
reflections of myself
lurking
between the
window and the
screen?
delete.
look at tomorrow,
look out the window,
all things deleted,
all things deleted.
