Poetry

Watch him flip
them the bird
after the ball

In the stillness of a windless day,
trees stand full, and proud, and straight.

He was in a poem once, alive 
at the beginning, dead by the middle, 
haunting me at the end.

Beaucoup de musique de Miley on the air—
As one may imagine, there is a Rihanna button, and it is
what you push when you enter the control room, and

Now when I get personal
I have only one thing to say
(a dead gay once told me,

I loved you, New York.

The way, at first, Tina loved Ike, loved even the winged
Effort of his anger, loved his punch-drunk backhand in flight,

Oh, obstreperous one, ornery outside of ordinary
protocols; paramilitary probie par 

excellence: Every evidence
you yield yells. 

Don’t dream it’s over you don’t
know what’s it’s like it’s like that
& that’s the way it be near me be near

Seeing again
your
face […]