good evening winter rain , i am a furnace

cup your hand around the lightswitch
pulling down on the sound

my voice sings out

trembling black lines from
the cold spot i try to fill
beneath your window.

i shuffle to

build something
tall     a smokestack of homes, a future

like this but big , arms leaping towards the
door , the window is not very far

from the front porch stuffy with cigarettes
,  you catch me with sameness
staring up from the corner to see you ,  bright
round looking
i felt you before you handed me your name
i hear myself
our pants piled together on the floor.

december already
still everything soon.

some things , made soon

audre lorde. love.

 if i could be anything.

t.

shame on a thursday

tonight, hungry past dinner time, i put on shoes. slip
down the street mid rain. chana masala plus one plain naan equals
my favorite 7 dollar dinner, i'll eat it quietly, shoulder slouched seated by the bed.

outside,  an elderly black man points his red and white cane in the direction of the curb.
can i help you cross i'm asking my ready lent  hand quick on his wintered sleeve
   i am pleasant and
he asks for help,  his left palm capsizing towards me.
in this moment my definitions find me limited plus quick shame in the cheeks equals
3 quarters and a dime, he takes me arm.

this is us, i say the light changing
and together we walk like
together we have somewhere to go.

across, i find another dollar from my pocket.
it is raining and my paper bag is filled with warm bread and sour guilt.
you're at the corner of jones at o' farrell i say loudly, our hands squeezing apart.
i continue up the hill quickly, like every good i've ever meant lurks ignorance behind.