jayivan

Hollow Man
hollow me out

Adrift, not knowing
I’m still at sea, bobbing,
To defend against sharks let free.

I erode while I:
eyes too close to me
to see sandstorms approaching.

She wore a black fur coat and carried a book titled object lessons in psychoanalytic practice. She shook off her umbrella in the nearly empty train, by the sole man sitting quietly by himself, and sat next to him on the 2-seated plastic bench.

His eyes retreated, heavy, drawn into the moment’s hopelessness—but he lifted his head and those eyes drifted forward to tread the calm waters out-of-focus and distant.

leave us two alone
on our garden throne

it’s not a bird, this
bird, no matter its shape and
concept of flight—

The blue world warms—
Despite the cold lingering
In mens red hearts—

I want to get small
enough to crawl inside an
abstraction and hush.

I may be an oyster, but a handsome oyster am I,
Awash in the salty filth, filtering bliss, egoless.

brooklyn meat beater
bastards baste the bar in beers
slipped out mouths agape

Face forward
Let the world blur past in hues
Through you