Midwest: Blurry flyover space. You know how wheels are round?

Mark you,

Tropicana Boston campaign -- "You finally found a spot, a hydrant beat you to it."

you could drive the mountains down into the bay / or go back to the east where it’s all so civilized

Bastard body, an instrument, a creator and a maker.

(the new poetry would be reading menus to an audience)

Monica, Monica / Have a happy Chanukah - Saw Santa Claus, / He said hello to Ross

And please tell Joey / Christmas will be snowwaayyeeaaayy - And Rachel and Chandler / Hassabinasjjhhandllerrrr...

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

I cooked a soup yesterday for the children / and the parents to eat / while they threaded through the high thin ceiling wires, like

bulbed lights barbing puppet strings. / I sat below this work on the / footstool and laughed / nervously as my phone rapped in

whistles, my heart / and its heretofore strangers. // I cooked a soup / and the jaw of all / my efforts dropped / to the floorboards

, a parade / escaped, a balloon / left sailing and caught at the gate / as it shut and / now follows, lilting.

Everything was pizza, and nothing hurt.

Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the pizzas themselves.

...which makes it possible for each to see the other whole against the pizza party sky.

I hold this to be the highest task for a bond between two slices of pizza: that each protects the solitude of the other.

Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our pizza.

I want to be with those who know secret pizzas or else alone.

Love consists of this: two pizzas that meet, protect and greet each other.