Missing

a thief in the day
I know tho that was
after the fact like
empty milk in 2
% gravity

I look into thin
spaces searching for
some weight somewhere, a
little less flimflam
and moving curtains

and missing glasses
I now know the front
door is a little
more civilized I
catch the air in each

ear finding my own
density, shoving
the ocean back in
to the conch dirty
red fingerprints are

exactly what we’re
after next to sex
and weed, like the pet
turtle’s scuta marks
the spot under teal

palm tree Lego land
umbrella, light low-
fat carton gripped in
my hand printed the
portrait of this world