[I had the cruelest dream last night...]

I had the cruelest dream last night that you were mine.
I wanted to love you like the whole world, and you
wanted to let me.

Still-clothed, the furthest from Genesis figures, but that's
how we knew each other. Biblically, stubbornly. With
longer lines

we could talk of the serpentine, but we'd end up doubling
back on ourselves. And this is not what the half-light should be.
Waking life

is two knees, pinned down hips, on carefully made beds.
Hair hanging, brushing curtains on my face and the lips say:
Hello. This is how

I've missed you.

[Tan bodied, clad in simple white cotton...]

Tan bodied, clad in simple white cotton
panties. Modest bra. She looked bride-like, presenting herself

like an early Christmas gift. A grand reward
for good behavior. There was understanding,

without pressure.

The afternoon held importance for her,
but for different reasons
than mine. She had reached
a conclusion, electrifying.

Cathartic. Kept it like a secret as
I pulled down the white cotton, unhooked
the white clasp. She offered

a gesture; something between pity and love,
and she was smiling.

No Six (We Lost Paul)

Strange vibrations in the office space. Miserable bastards are looking at nothing, running around with their damn heads cut off. "They're jacking our account," says the receptionist. "Why don't you call and bitch them out?" I look at her, uncaring, and turn back around.

Two road dogs, stinking and loud-mouthed, pace and bicker in Dispatch. They are missing teeth, or toenails, and look like they've not slept for nights. The filthy creatures have been flapping their terrible jaws for hours like they're not on the clock. Or are they? We don't know anymore, for the bosses have left town.

The hours are slow-crawling. The days are long and the evening barely lasts. This is what it's like in a cubicle space. This is what it's like, right before the great explosion.