the platitudes of willful resemblance

birds evening song

boys weed in the garden

making way for more weeds to grow and insist

cicadas sound

make love, make love

here I am, waiting out whatever

metal skewers don’t require a soaking

and I love your

face

smooth smooth smooth

a moment of several stages

the first one

hurts hurts strange

and a means of communication

I wave my hands

sidelong and erect

standing to the left of the finished masterpiece

tearing apart

and not taking it

anymore

we’re not taking it anymore

– Hoc Scripsi