find like matryoshka

dolls layers of being

each one smaller yet

more concentrated


on the football field

when i carried you

drunk on my back

in the summer midnight


how i paw at the lip

of an unopened jar

with the feeble torque

of a man in crisis


when you ask me

what i’ve been up to

i can’t remember

because it’s nothing


the restless nature of

two legs in atrophy