tell her, with your tongue seeping blood and eyelashes frosted with fear
not to buy any milk, as your face will be printed on the “missing” side of the carton.
the world is cold outside; can you hear,
Tell her.
your heart deserted your chest to travel India, with only a roadmap.  Or,
that you wanted to find out who shot John F. Kennedy.
and as your breath glazes the glass in the phone booth,
swarming with your foolish lies,
she’ll think “don’t do it!’

How does one ask another to fall out of love?

you see your life flash before your eyes,
your attention is so brittle that when her heart was a ripe tomato,
you decided to throw it at a bad street musician
Not another care in the world.
and she’s just sitting there, at the end of the line,
twisting the plastic cord around her cold fingers
as if cutting off her blood circulation is going to cut off her love for you.