The Method of Vanishing Cues

Friday, July 15, 2016

For Florida

I got myself a cup. It was the end of water
and I was the last to drink. I was

a revolver at the bed of the dead woman.
It was the cruel month and I was

inhabited by nightmares. It was a dream
the color of children. I was

taking off from MIA. It was the time we
drove in circles until we got there. I was

extinct in everglades. It was unseasonable.
I skied through flambé or sorbet. I was

redhanded and tenderheaded. It was the best
and final cue. I broke into orchids and was gone.

Friday, July 15, 2016