Out of my bed
before the roof
caved in. Strands
sewn into dusty sheets.
You’re all over. The room,
a crime scene. Clues
of you and the shadows
blooming. You’re all over.
Wrapped in the rubber
band round my pens, the
shadows blooming; you’re
all over. Back of your
head: lost hair clogging
the shower drain still;
blighted, a mouse brown
nest. You’re all over.
One way to LAX,
contrails crossing
like hair. Your
hair. Contrails
of jet planes
braiding down
the nation’s neck,
braiding you away.
(2003)
