Simple Machine (2024)

Ideally, I’d like someone

anonymous I

can send art that

makes me laugh, like Frank

O’Hara’s poem about Lana Turner

collapsing.

We would live

within walking distance but

we’d definitely avoid each other. They

wouldn’t ask too many ambiguous

questions but rather demonstrate

unearthly wit and teach me every

thing I don’t know about astrophysics. It

would be a great comfort to know

what’s out there.

We would never touch

or even really see each other,

but we would be

inseparable.

Cardinals in picture windows

would remind me of them, or an

acorn mangled underfoot.

I would laugh heartily

and write short poems about

the fall.