Brahmagupta   the zero you never had to carry




firefly  
     maybe there's
          a chance




quietly turning pages    the ending to a story, I already know




widower groundhog    drowsy on the sun-warped deck




in a room alone   waiting for his luck to change 




a Paul Muni moment    I STEAL her dark chocolate




 history therein     the ones who wouldn't behave




the tricky slow-pitch of old age




soft Veronicas at her open bedroom window



no longer sci-fi
scholars annotating obstruse texts
on a dying planet




using sodium-vapor lights for my big imaginary scene 




I'm the monkey bars of nonlinearity, 
shot in the back
with a hand-held camera  




blowing sea water out of both nostrils
my Madras shorts
hemorrhaging




scent of crushed sage off the shoulders of a stranger




pioneering milk thistle enriching the soil she doesn't speak