April is a toaster popping, stirring
up and blowing through the corridor
furthermore, april is the dusk on the PC screen
the little window with your face, a dark sun.
outside I can hear the world sputtering
with bogus beginnings and sleeping. another man
takes forgets about his vehicle like there was consistently time
that neighbor above pees in the bowl
like he's penetrating cement, and my mind is
concrete. I keep with the personal growth
back I come to adore, marquez, cholera
in any case, it feels profane to adore even words now
in this way, april you at long last showed up, grieved
like the main daisies to reign peacefully.