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By series: Bridge St  In Yr Ear  Ruthless Grip

Poem ("Alone, Jimmy tends to pace himself")
Alone, Jimmy tends to pace himself
in terms of the tiniest dot
next to the poem you love
in fact the hairs on the heads
of the people walking by
are not different from last June
when you denied yourself all luxury
dead, waxen, riotous for something
that would be the solution
thought out in rows rough as boughs
more livid than a compass
placed in your back pocket
an embarrassing amount of shrubbery
in front of your home
we first met in September
when the wet air was nature's pomade
stylized like hills
it's time to divide the poem in half
the top because you are silent and still
the bottom a small breath carrying your packages