ABSTRACT EPISTLE (OR: America and Elanor go for a ride)

The three bruckled faces turned up

during that fucking drive from Long Island, out

keeping a steady diet of daily specials

like the most large catch of the day drawn out with an hook.

All the more days in you. All battening down.

Please take my bag filled with tote bags, my cart

and Meatball empire. The rain can’t last long

with you in it. So the traffic likewise settles down

between us, bright red on the lcd, as milk-

mist tendrils over the deserted gridiron. The level sward

and the shadow of a vacant grandstand. Rise with us

as revealed lastweek ago. How Santa Claus’d he was,

it moved both my ears like dominoes hitting the shore.

Sales tax on the kisses would never be right so tear

down the handrawn ukelele, for we have always

been a peoples. Nor modestly

sized. To try to make a look while

Skype staggers a bit with your beloved’s pixels.

You’d like to seem more

but I don’t want you to worry about keeping the faith.

Take up face with the people you know

been killers once or twice. If it is real

it has been effaced— destroyed by the errant hand of a servant

and a large cup of coffee. What seemed so stable

will be made again as I recall

most everything as you,

as I ask of you to keep close,

then say you love me more than you can.