This is how I bend over backward
to tie my shoes, I blink
across the night romancandle.
An omnibuzz, like typing on my tongue.
I want to sleep on these blank pages.

I shake this match and it won’t go out,
a kamikaze blown in on a breeze.
I can’t sleep brushing you.
Unbone my hand, early warning.
Unbone this cloud, possible showers.

Self is to be commended for correct
adult deportment at self’s recent funeral
(except for ignoring the no-smoking sign).
Pass the sweet, Salty, it is morning:
the streets are tilted and rocky,

a newborn foundling has pinned its mother
with barely a whimper—Can’t we discuss this 
on the phone? A shot is fired next door,
miss the cat? Will those few
please sit up and speak to me;

otherwise I’m forced to conclude keep walking,
what’s at the core of it, keep walking.