By Daniel Wood:
a screen door
and a porch to smoke on --
the better part of home
two hours in the car
my navigator agrees --
that cloud looks like a dragon.
crooked night streets
voices from the backseat
every name a direction
if I could only
perch a bird so carefully
on her shoulder, then
red wine in white cups --
the glasses were already full
with gods
eyes closed
around the table, listening
to the panic of love
half asleep in
the cool basement --
giggles from the curtained room
silver & light --
my sister has a knife, but I've
got her back
the machine waits,
surrounded
by photographs of our escape
back in the 90s again --
skater punks, Nirvana hoodies,
that old horniness
standing at the window
admiring the calves
of your red-headed neighbour
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