“Travel”

She suggested walking at night
when the sky was relatively clear.
There you’d find poetry, scraps
tucked into moments – an ocean
of yellowed nightlights defying
an absent sun. There’d be more
luck there than in off-white rooms
all filled with glowing screens
and things too like life.

it was cold.

“Remnant”

we have thoughts
piled on desks
scratched onto receipts
or scraps of paper
stolen from books

the world’ll go
catatonic one day,
and all that’ll be left
are post-it notes
on computer screens

poems in margins
lists on counter tops
novels in cd cases
haiku on roofs,
loveletters on shoulders.