Self-Portrait as Works and Days

Kissing you
was like tending a tiny
desktop garden
of fake succulents.
I took a photo.
 

Self-Portrait as Prey

Wet,
you want me to
fold in half, arms
behind my back
while I act
like I like you
liking that 

Self-Portrait as Imaginary Enemy

Was or wasn’t
that not you
in a seersucker suit
with the
embarrassing
underarm stains
I saw each time
you lifted a hand
to offer me
that saltshaker? 

Self-Portrait as Shovel

Take me back.
What’d dirty you
falls through my head.
You lifted me.
Bent over
to put me in and over
the earth. The
earth.
I don’t own this yard. 

Self-Portrait in Stadium

I love sports.
One day the lead player, though, he
disappeared.
As if on my behalf.
Now I’m in this sportsy state.
I can explain:
“Sports shouldn’t be
the art of some
individuals, without
being a tacit act
-ivity and universe of
everything.” 

Self-Portrait as Little Rote Exercise

I pick a fossil up and it is
replaced by a
fossil.
Not just ice:
I run over ice
I slip
I slip to run this past
past you.
Love you.