in the details [Emerson and his circles]

[the patterns of fur, just around the nose
or the way the one blue brick brushes up towards the heavens
while one tall parsley plant pushes strong through the blinds]

reading, on yellowed pages, how Emerson believes in circles

yet it seems to us, young, impatient, only one line
we’re forced to follow straight
like accountants in green visors squinting
patiently close
while the numbers so dutifully march.

we’ll realize sometime, later, that lines never end,
and some, if they start over again, mean Emerson
may have known better all along.

all us Golightly’s

all us Golightly’s
with our nameless slobs of cats
we flit from this
party to the next

i see how the makeup
sinks lovingly now into the laugh lines
around my blue eyes
witnessing the apartment
filling with guests
masks and all
in the space behind the mirror

one arm sits
linked with the man of accent and money
watching close by
an unknown writer

when he leaves –
don’t abandon me when i begin to push you away
help me find
a name for the

leftovers microwaved for dinner

the simple flick of the light switch
is nice to come home to. it
lights the kitchen walls so you can
water the Gerbers, give them a pat,
take the leftover spaghetti from the fridge —

the sauce you made for family
when the apartment filled with noise
so much bigger than the TV —

watch the bowl spin round, round
the heat picks every particle and bursts
tomato in a fine spray you’ll clean
later in the night, when you can’t sleep.