my love is sometimes wracked by guilt
and fits of handsomeness.
last night I dreamed there was a fire escape
out my window
and a pretty girl let me follow her down.
today I think about writing my own crossword
and decide that I am going to call up jennifer connelly
and she is going to ask me out on a date.
my love shoots me a look
like the way cold smells
like the way a lighthouse looks
to a sailor
intent on synchronized shipwrecks.