somehow, i
their hamster looked at the window and realized his place in the world
was to be something frail. Like grandmother, like November &
similar to the way this rain refuses to cease.  More often than not,
I have shamed the wooden vegetables that shame me
and I have shamed myself on a wooden cutting board, knife
-deep under this flesh. My hero has always been
tardy, in rumpled dress shirts, charming beyond belief, beyond
belief.  in my self-portrait, i want to go to bed.
I want bed to mean something other than sleep.