There are things I don’t want to say
______ out loud.
______________Like how I need a friend
____________________________like a bullet on the table.

When movement
________________is confined to rooms
one could trace blindfolded,
________the “I” becomes a most despised pronoun.

________________Remembering another’s face—
________________another door to walk through,
the illusion of company.

I confess: I’ve eaten all the plums. There are none left,
________which means, at last, poetry
is over.

The carrots are gone too, and the bread.
________________The pantry turning the day
________________to salt

________________around the bones
______________________like hands

scaling the neighbor’s piano,
discordant notes
________________rising through
________________the floorboards. It’s uncanny
________________________________how often I turn toward a sound
________________________________and expect a body.
What I’d give for a fist
________________to grind me down.
What I’d give for a glimpse
________________of any new accident.