the mutt misses jouvay by no less than 4 hours

the touch of a man is turning shrill a cicadas’
final screech their hard plastic other body falling
dirt bound planting nothing I sleep & dream of crowds
of flies wake up grabbing at my phone for a name
for an hour a number for the chill behind me before me a jaw
of the older stock prehistoric & reassembled clenches my neck
‘til it a rivet a screw in a bigger design what tool am I I wear
a skirt & smile the wide way I should be easy how scratching
lotto tickets be I should consider being a lotto ticket an instant
disappointment colored brightly a tongue always too far out
the mouth & caught los angeles lost 63 trillion gallons of water
this year that is the name of my home & what information
can that provide me regarding how I sleep or how I love or how
I lose my keys I fall asleep to Stokely Charmichael saying
“I was born in jail” the land is moving taller creasing against
opposite slabs like hands forced into prayer by the fingertips
that friday night I wore the skirt I smiled the wide way the way
of deserts in droughts & the guy shoves his tongue in & here I am
not hungry this guy this business job this “I live in Long Island City”
this inability to salsa at a salsa club & I respond to her text
2 hours too late & I am afraid she won’t respond again that I canceled
too many times for coffee that being alone is all I want & after that,

her