Jordan Davis

turtles generate poems No wonder they move so slowly— Somebody in there is Trying to write.

When working on a small scale He is practicing a gesture. So much of life is practicing gestures. So much of living is evaluating Those around you for signs of damage. Now it is night, morning’s a blink away. Sleep is sometimes thought of As an avalanche of repair gnomes That attends your pit stop. Would that we were sleeping now! Viable alternatives will be reviled Until the point of no return is passed. The only reasonable course of action Is to look for sizeable flotsam, Redo the resume, learn a martial art.

I miss the moshpit pushed to the side of the bed. The hard and fast rules, the business, Walking across town the baby’s hand in mine Gave me anxiety Rosado barely mellowed. Who doesn’t love to hear about anxiety. You wouldn’t be too wrong to wake from dreaming Into an amusement park sluice of Rioja Eau de post-Auden thanks a lot Timex hubbub. Those feelings are in their way good luck. I don’t even need a communion wafer To feel the need to broadcast imprecations Fade like a docent as the hedge fund falls.