I’m sinking all this soft
serve thinking about you. Love,
15-0. I’m the zero without a racket

causing a racket to my friends about
the heart’s catalog of sounds
under a stethoscope– your x-ray

shadow of spring when beach
living was what we aspired to before
I was hired at an office I say sucks

my days away feeding off bone
marrow called cured turkey
the sandwiches we would make.

I have slid so far down the skinny
memory rabbit hole to replicate
burnt CDs to blast from open

Fords that sputtered through city
streets in joyrides we thought
would last forever.


(originally published in Scarlet Leaf Review, Fall 2019)

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