Someone’s wearing heels upstairs;
lying in the heat below, the knock
could be anything. In the beginning
our portions were given; in the end
our darkness is balanced again.
We were gray matter put in motion, disseminating,
trading our sins around like stocks
and they piled up on me.
Now it’s dark and I hear footsteps,
now the dogs have started up
and a car alarm is stuck.
My thoughts are I’ve taken too much—
the stomps are a gavel, they could be the clock.
A mutt’s mind sees a wolf
but the mirror shows what’s happened—
what’s happened here is my cup ran over
and this is retribution.
– Long Beach, CA