Sometimes the First Line of a Poem Is Also the Last Line, If You Catch My Drift

I am given a pony for my birthday, but it is the wrong kind of pony

I speak these words directly into his yawn

First: The blinding of the citizens

I woke up real early to write about death

I crawl along the floor of my mother's childhood

I made love to you, & it loomed there

The radio animals travel in lavender clouds