Night of the Grasshoppers, and
The Night Stink Bugs Appeared on the Walls,
and the Night I Tried the Gloves On
and I wanted to throw them back and
The Night of My Inklings not to. To fall on under-
gardened impatiens and little thumbs
of roses, names of flowers i don’t know
and turn them over on Nights I Slept
on the Couch in the kitchen. There
was this window the city was through.
I fixed myself like an insert between
the buildings, walking lengthwise,
Pabst Nights and Nights that I
Just Listened and you picked me up
and you set me down.