O that common verb. Dress me in spatulas put the moon around my neck. Parting air the poet waves a hand, too much lace and I wonder if the trolley’s real, a giant upside-down flying spoon. God and hair I knew you in the Mechanical Age. Now I am someone who gets off and on trains with dads and bags everyday. Look, it’s 4:43 in the afternoon people go home. My mother wore Obsession in the eighties. I smell fire which has no hands, did you hear me? I have no horses now. Someone did not make your sweater, someone didn’t make it who loves you.