Jay Thompson
Gabe
they met us with closed hands
they wouldn’t even know
brew two scoops’ snow for tea
the provinces of noon
la burnt onion wild orange
chicken bones’ chic decay
gray hat-headed guitar
my cardamom cookie
your neighbors’ googly eyes
on holey plaster mouths
red lights edge your stage name
heroish on your own
you say tada tada
to a smallness of wind
