Wednesday, September 14, 2016


We are latterly what
you could
call partners, administering favors
from the same

bed, but always carefully
separate computers.

In a fairly equitable 
of labor—you give me 
all your money,

and I fold it 
back into perfect paper 
cranes for you.

You add the gas bill 
to the cable 
subtracting the electrical, before taking
the fastest available

expressways out of town—
while I focus 
on the grunt work 

of napping 
so diligently each afternoon, 
as fail-safe way 
of continually reaffirming

that, deep down, you 
have your own
agonies—those certain

bracing and non-
transferable hurts, which
I should never 
even dare dream 

of being able 
to do anything remotely
capable—to heal.