Bits: because I am little, and my favorite things are too.

We came to love
the music the men
made up on the roofs
with their a.m. radios and
saturday morning
staple guns.
***
I think sloppy drunks.
When they are sloppy drunk.
Love sloppy drunks.
***
This is the part
of the story, when
the seagull swoops
down and steals
your churro.
***
The broken
winged bird
has no way
of ending itself.
***
The man in the theater
carried a weapon in his own pocket
and waited for laughter to muffle
his footsteps and the pistol blast
at the back of Abraham’s last
living head.
***
Picnics are occurring.
***
It’s nice, the idea
of any two people
being under
the same rain.
***
A bird takes a sandy bagel
in its beak, flies up with it
and at some point
just drops it on the beach.
***
I am someone that heard you, somehow.
***
shaking everyone’s shaking
hands wrapped around
street lights that
comfortably walk
down our cheekbones
like horses.
***
He had micro gerth
and the happiest hands,
super good at fishing
and pulling out the poplars
that would have died anyway.
***
To find you sleeping
is the subtlest epiphany
of hope.
***
The way in which we call rooms
that we are in alone empty
***
She bought him shoelaces
t-shirts and a suit because
he had no sexy clothes and
they spray painted the
shoelaces and t-shirts
she said, he doesn’t even
have any sexy clothes!

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