I will shut my eyes like a sad man.
I will sign my name in Cyrillic.
They were giving out roses
at the store today. I picked my flower
and went. And all
the children wanted
to know me, and every
Amanda thought me insane,
and sure as the sun
shot out from the East,
the sycophants got with it.
Invisible they were and reluctant
to swallow. Snow at the hemline
soft and bright, another spindled season.
In the time I took with him
in the greenhouse, three or four languages
left us for good.
You do not have to talk about it.
Okay. I mean, thank you.