.
last night i picked up
the phone but you were still dead.
you keep calling me
.
though it’s hard to hear
your words this way, hard to trade
old photos of our
.
heroes, your new collage,
my aimlessly wandering
with found objects and
.
tribal members. your
brother is angry and P
is angry with me
.
which is easier.
i’m fine. i’ve seen your face on
strangers in philly
.
and once in DC … you
winked at me, no less – nice touch
and every time
.
i inscribe three dots
on the bottom of a clay
pot i smile for you
.
now untouchable.
it’s always nice to hear from
you. it’s just hard to
.
understand over this phone.
i’ve reserved a place for you
in my dreams tonight.
orphan poems 