“Kafé, kasita non kafela et publia filii omnibus suis” — an invocation to allow one to enter someone’s dreams.

Dreams are coming to

the heel just outside,

the shadow in my sly-boot

box says so. This, too, is

a love poem and like all

brief solutions is already

fading. Meanwhile go

nowhere, do nothing.

Every motion wasted.

Finger this hole. On my

lips a sticky residue: jizz,

junk, slicked back hair.

Fleshpot vespers. Spooky

bird. I will enter your dream.