fancy

bow on your french chocolates,

breakfast radishes and milk buns from the farmers market,

japanese stone washed linen duvets,

a vacation to pristine americana where you can trek steep rocky ground for leisure,

drink store bought spring water from your 3 liter plastic pouches,

take pictures of places where people in your life could not afford to be.

rodent

drove 3x in d a u,

5 cups of coffee,

stayed up all night,

blah blah blah was very impressed with you,

on track for xyz,

if not too much trouble,

need this for an investor,

five stars,

really appreciate it.

blade

two cuts with his dull little knife because that's what edgy teenagers do,

so hardcore, a little scratch or two, something right out of tv but real like

cheap blunted swords that you could by from your local tourist market for thirty or less

so you could shine a bit of steel while you kicked all the drunk party guests out at 3am or so on new year's day in 2011

and sleep, and sleep, and sleep

and when an ex-chef wants you to touch his japanese sharpening block in his little knife shop when you are old and touring non-cities

you do it, because they mined it from deep under the ocean, but mostly because your ex lover thinks knives are cool and you are humoring him and the shopkeep.

radio

when we drive, we always start with the first channel,

scroll to the next,

and down,

until we've fallen into some obscure plane of dada notes,

cool jazz or lukewarm oldies as we try on warbly country on dirt roads, and motown even though we live too comfortably and carefully to really know what the man is singing about,

so I ask for permission to switch the radio off, and you assent.

radio off, I plug in my little glass and plastic phone, find an aria where the queen of the night demands murder. 

the soprano is a wisp. I find someone else, 

a less pretty chanteuse with heavy coloratura, 

start a tall road story, about sopranos who sing offkey, and other sopranos who relish it.

we would've never been friends in high school.

bulky

apples, a bag,

fuji, gala, a blondee, crispin gold. a new name for each rose.

a pink darling blossomed, high up on the tree,

and myself, too short to reach, so i plucked dying leaves,

and sent you autumn, instead of letters i wouldn't mean.