Along the Gulf’s lousy mirror of wet sand
I run out of anxiety
but it refills me before all the hot water in the shower’s gone.

A miserably-married relation said Every great thing in my life has come
from taking these crazy risks.

I risk being pessimistic. Even art’s becoming disappointing.

In Houston’s MFA, galleries of baby-faced Marys, gilt wood 
surrounding their patient faces peeling. Joseph’s hair is grey 
as Jeffrey Epstein’s.

Is less rat-racing the answer? Is it obvious as a highway sign?

Brakeless Trucks Must Bypass Rest Area

My friend Lee Anne has a strategy: 
I answer all the officer’s questions 
with a small amount of truth
and a large amount of practicality.

A muddle is E. M. Forster’s phrase for when we don’t know our own minds.

Lee Anne’s always known herself:  Calm. But with a twitch.

Rick said She has a romantic aversion to the idea of marriage. 

I think sex is the Judas horse that led us into…..what? the state pen? marriage? 
nine years of dust? 

Impervious surfaces. Antiquated lamb.

We’re older than when we first said these things                              
but maybe time’s on our side?

I want a side of reality. Even when it’s grim.                                   

Teens are mad for fantasy because they feel 
they have no agency. 

In reality we dread Trump could linger past November,
like a rat behind a wall.
 
I don’t want to be overly hopeful
but no one human can accept that smell.