I speak the language of broken harmonicas:
of things sharp and unfinished, Billy Joel bent
at the waist, and the minor chord when all
the jukeboxes of Miami run their battles, digest
their nickels, or maybe when there is no money at all.
On being part of yourself: punching your breasts
to flatten your edges. Little moments.
"I am so clever that sometimes I don't understand a single word of what I am saying." —Oscar Wilde, The Happy Price and Other Stories