Jane’s Shoes

Jane’s Shoes

my shoes in the closet like forgotten
my shoes alone right now,
like dogs walking dead avenues,
and I got a letter from a woman in a hospital,
love, she says, love
but I do not write back,
I do not understand myself,
she sends me photographs of herself
taken in the hospital
and I remember her on other nights,
not dying,
her shoes next to mine
in the closet;
how those strong nights
lied to us,
how those nights became quiet
my shoes alone in the closet now
flown over by coats and
awkward shirts,
and I look into the hole the
door leaves
and the walls, and I do not


Eulogy To A Hell of a Dame

some dogs who sleep at night
must dream of bones
and I remember your bones
in flesh
and best
in that dark green dress
and those high-heeled bright
black shoes,
you always cursed when you drank,
your hair coming down you
wanted to explode out of
what was holding you:
rotten memories of a
past, and
you finally got
by dying,
leaving me with the
you’ve been dead
28 years
yet I remember you
better than any of
the rest;
you were the only one
who understood
the futility of the
arrangement of
all the others were only
displeased with
trivial segments,
nonsensically about
Jane, you were
killed by
knowing too much.
here’s a drink
to your bones
this dog
dreams about.



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