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“Untitled, 03.14.25, New Orleans, Louisiana”

I am a son of the earth

and yoked to it. Every heat ripple on a summer road,

every part per million of toxoid in the air

has got my number, is my pledged foe.

And the bad things come in twos

when they do not come in threes.

So, gorge on the asymmetry of sadness, the dead animals scuffed

to the curbs, the homes made of street garbage, the seeming

weeks of rainy days. Come away feeling not sown but hemorrhaged, glutted, blue, down, heavy, beat, waterlogged and

when all that liquid needs a place to go

shut your eyes until you explode.