I didn’t like sex in the beginning.Somewhere in Greece, the sea eroded rocks.There was no oracle. Spring lambs roasted

on wooden spits, sending a charred scentinto inland towns, smoke gathering on rooftops.I had been lied to. Women, too, were violent.

The presidential candidate praised drones.My sister was in the psychiatric hospital.My mother kept repainting the kitchen.

Burnt orange, lime green. A dirty sort of gold.In the nightclub bathroom, I inhaled strangevapors, then smashed my head into a wall.