I stopped complaining,
and it was agony.
No one explains
how to resist.
Recover, they say.
In a subterranean Duane Reade,
I gathered every ointment.
Please pick at the scab,
built high in the folds
of my hair. If we drain all
my blisters, won’t I look better?
THE LAST CITY
The bees came, and they visited us. They stayed,
and they left. House hunting, the bees buy nothing.
When we are gone out of the earth, I will also resist
the urge to buy something.
I relocate with a can of Vienna sausages and some bread.
I go to the park. I want free ketchup packets,
which is lucky because they are everywhere.
I will buy nothing which is to say, this is not the last city.