Cold grass the kissing session infirmities;
the dog’s drug-induced thirst. Moon struck
yogurt halo. Sour puss. “L St. Laundry.
“Nosotros Repasamas La Ropa Gratis.”
Shadow of my inhaler darkens the last
paragraph of a column. Wait for death
(own it) someday. And occasionally hate
myself. Love waxes wanes always returns.