excerpt from “spilt flour”

and I try to keep working with the pain in my chest (getting
worse), the lump in my throat: I just swallow more frequently.
think about paper.

reams of towel unroll toward me, sliced zigzag, embossed
and shot with ink (invisible, black-lit). count up: 264,
thirty times/minute. ambidextrous swing

between the right and left hand wave: goodbye is one of those
things that does not get easier with experience. it begins again:
I am running out of the room

with only one shoe on, saying I will stay in touch. the other
shoe, my other hand. (switch). folded paper towel inches
for the edge on belts made of strap.

trough and rod conveyor: two thumbs up, a nervous laugh,
a pat on the back. I say go get ’em tiger instead of I love you.
think about baseball.

Featured on Roll of Nickels, April 1, 2017

excerpt from then/again (Nightwood Editions, 2017)