a mouth began / in the south east corner / of the continent where / a tribe of teeth / once shared rice

in 2029, i wake up next to a stranger. / the word husband for us is like paprika — / it adds color.

There’s a phrase for it, the way / I’m lately loving like a river / is pressed to my door

my hair sways long / black streams cascade / down my back / somewhere, skies illuminate after somber rain

It is unseemly to blow your nose into a tablecloth. If you share a / bed with another man, keep still. If you pass a person pissing, do /not greet him.

It came from a catalogue. I opened / the plastic bag inside the plastic bag / and out tumbled fabric fine as flesh.

The chalk taste of prescription pill / washed down / with too-sweet lemonade. I only take it / because you do, and I wonder / if you get high so you can tolerate me.

O bobolink. The bobolink is dead / at my door — found leaving my apartment / to school then to work. After some searching, / I guess it’s a bobolink—this lemon- / headed crow, this crumpled parachute cloth.

We come from the mountains, we have wolf / in our blood, we have pinebarb.

Make it out to my sense of melodrama or maybe just my consistent need for I think it's called attention?