“Please take the garbage out before I crack
You in the head,” she said, like a nun.
I’m always the one the foul falls upon (the one
To counter-attack is mostly a version of becoming
Re-undone, like a muffin too cooked to eat.) Let’s
Frequent the Nowhere draining my eye. Let’s destroy
The hill before it buries us beneath a violent peace;
Before it turns amuse into annoy. The problem rests
Between tone-deaf notes and the ones no one listens to.
(She’s neutral about surrender—she harbors perhaps:
As if putting away the white flag to take up darning
Solved it all. But I intend to bear-hug my refuse
During the fall—
even my woe’s in recycle-mode.)