David Feinstein



There’s a fire creeping inside my sunglasses.

The voice a crackling radio voice.

Spark and lift.

I tune it by throwing it against the mountain.

Like light on the lake I’m all for physics.

High beams in mind: upholstery, glory hole in the sky.

Saturday has its own idea of plot.

The birds flit in and out of the listening trees.

I mean glistening. Glistening trees.

Before I blacked out the trees gave me air to suck on.

Before I blacked out I was another white male.

In my chest is a black hole I drilled through the night.

See a democracy of aspens, their spazzed out little hands.

See Dick at the monster truck rally.

Each blade gleams, gets mowed.

It’s a muted soundtrack with light rattling the trunk.

The leaves touch themselves in the wind.

The wind spreads its gossip wide.

Nobody here is faking it.



If you liked blank
You will love blankness

Not fortune cookie happiness
But the moon

Another screen to scroll

Here is a diagram
A circle in red ink

Where the mistake
That is my heart should be

Crater for bees
To build their hive inside

I do not know what created it
What crashed there
So long ago I do not know

Dear algorithm, tell me
What it is like to be me tonight

Recommend a title
For me tonight

I roll blunt after blunt after blunt
I scroll my eyes up to the moon

It is starting to make me feel
Like a big homo sapiens

Because I cannot figure out

How to click on any
Emoticon in the sky

To describe the night
Or the night’s feelings about me

Dear satellite, I’m still not sure
How my face is being read up there

My eyes feel like sirens
My face feels red

Tell me it was red



When I said rupture
I meant rapture

There’s a rip
in the sky’s pants

and the sun is
leaking light

making stains of us

We wait for
the b31 to arrive

and though she
is not waiting here

on this bench
on North Pleasant Street

Saint Teresa
is also one of us

She is in Rome today
dropping ecstasy

on her bed of clouds
getting stabbed

by swords of light
that enter

through the ceiling
her heart on fire

She is losing
her virginity

to this light
She is having

of this light

We sit here
on this bench

marveling about
the weather

When the bus
arrives we get up

Her eyes roll back
in her head

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