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A note in my Notes App reads:

“Love Poems from the End of the World”


Beneath it a blankness

like a pool drained of its water


Beneath that a list of ingredients

to make beef bourguignon


When things are tidy I love them

for the potential destruction I can bring


After the crash snapped the trailer’s latch

the highway turned into a river of horses


Children rolled down windows and touched

shivering flanks, swampy nostrils


No one had a thought for the air

balloonist dangling from her tilted basket


The trick with beef bourguignon is to not make it

and then languish in the possibility of making it


Both of us naked, you fold carefully the duvet


All the good stuff in a love poem

happens in the white spaces


Like when we

                                                            all night


We can always change

the sheets tomorrow


I’m so hungry I could eat

whatever’s breathing outside the window