No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story. No Kings.
I am not asleep, but I pretend I am. Clenching my face, eyes tightly shut and breathing loudly, as a 4-year-old this is my best impression of being asleep. It isn’t a terrible performance, but it is unlikely that I am fooling him. I hear him shuffling in his pocket, the coins weighing it down heavily. The pockets are as deep as his generosity.
That night, you slept over on the couch of my tiny bachelor apartment and in the morning, we stood on the balcony watching the sun rise. I asked you, why haven’t you stuck with anyone yet?
The significance of a few short minutes.
Our world is a mason jar being shaken,
Contents whirled up, coating the panes,
Surfing along the flat of the lid, mixed...
Jesus bird Walks the way the moonlight Walks on the bayous, Pantanal ol’en sea.
If there’s one thing I know, it’s that going to Oklahoma is never a solution to my problems. If there’s a second thing I know, it’s that when I’m looking for a lost relative, I can probably find them at the casino, and I was looking for a lost relative I never had met. I hadn’t even known I had him until a few hours ago.
I hope that when he is an old man he remembers skipping along supermarket aisles and Robert...