L.A. isn’t crowded,

there were plenty of eggs

at the store, the news

is a simple story,

most things

can’t always be true

I wake up, the sky

is still empty

When my soul leaves

to be here forever,

I’ll be just as quiet

as all of the others

The pair of pigeons

that come to drink from our pool

are here, watch me write,

one leaves

If you could choose

one emotion to call

into the office of self,

tell it, “This is never easy,

These days:

the dawn that gets in

only what molars allow,

massive, grinding over

light peaking through 

offsets, pits,

A man in an apron

half on and printed

with the name of the grocery store

he works at

leans half out of his truck

The trail thinned to a ribbon

along a drop to the lake,

Cachuma, all water and life

Public order, March 19th, 2020,

every word a spell, taking care

to conjure a shine on a frame

we have to say is not locked,

I didn’t think there was an appetite

for April Fool’s day today,

my roommate coughs a lot

anyway, snores like

he needs to be louder

than anyone’s

ever been,

and last night he told me

he felt bad,

We are what we give,

legion, we see nothing,

feel less, we,

RNA, lipid membrane,

protein on protein

where our envelopes

are spiked

and ride fomites

in the air

between air, wet

Tense, all corrals

and staff shouting

what’s here

and what’s not

where we’re amassed

at the way in, no faces,

just eyes

among eyes, foci

The model

scientists seem to like best

looks like ping pong balls

on a ship’s open deck,

even in conditions

like new glass

with no wind

the points

will meet,

trade space

with someone’s friends

and my friends