Handbook

My motivation is a voice bringing me to the edge of

the bed. I weigh in on stupid hands and elbows, and

the Georgian moon is a slanderous symbol in an age

of useless commas. Please punctuate my tongue,

nose, and throat. Discontinue the real estate ad on

this sad street of houses moaning like imagined

love. Russians stare at me from all mirrors. The

windows are open, but the alphabet is all wrong.