last fall’s leaves—
the steam of death seeping
into a sky
last fall’s leaves—
the steam of death seeping
into a sky
some questions
are like a housefly
in a warehouse
while sleeping,
he imagined sleeping in a sack
in a sack
resignation
and the assent of a flag
to a breeze
riding elevators,
leashed, bored by sharing
every room
upright, the posture
of someone on the absolute
brink of falling
a heart boxed—
the muffled taps listless
desire for escape