after so long,
     weeks since any poem,
     hardly need to say it
jobs inhabit your life

like gut microbes

1:25 am
men stoke the fire pit
    by the poison shed
and the half-mowed field's
burrows and dry stalks;
    
laugh
into the heat,
               shift, 
a nervous dance
    under useless stars.
 
look:
    nothing 
         in my 
         soft palms

but

letters drop
onto the field
        
       tetris
blocks 

fill the gaps:
       
plunk
plunk
plunk
       plunk