fractions

we’re not getting any more accordion players to fold their hands like such lovers.
we want jackknife-like precision of ants, scribbling their numeric bodies on the driveway
we want women lovers to crinkle a sound in night and the city, a ball of aluminum foil
we deny rumors that a car leaving Boston at eighty will develop emotions when the brakes fail

we ascertain that the man in the mirror is closer to life than he appears

we experience physical difficulty, a cramping of the larynx, with the period after mourning
we discuss fragility and how it looks on our hands
we circumnavigate parking lots, for nautical
we theorize that a coronary can protect a princess from imposters, stalkers and heartache

we know that the ground underneath is heavy once the positions are reversed