poems by David Tomaloff
“sit _still, train {I’m try _ing to philanthropy}
iii.
I had five, I gave you twelve
she had six, and gave you shrapnel
they had wood and carved you a faculty
you smashed it on the rocks
you gave me turquoise; I didn’t exist that
she said they vaulted; I didn’t hear that
the crowd picked honey; I didn’t care for it
I called you honey; the piano teased me for it
the mill turned only; the pine had double for it
vi.
you know I was born
and I gave you that
you knew I was illiterate
and I sold you that
I knew you were mescal powder;
you provided a sea exchange
I knew you said something
so I pillaged the sharp darkened there
the swimming went sour
so the New York Times
divided six from there
I subscribed and went blind
from stocking sex in there
less drivel, more punk
public bathroom there
falls are a mish mashed
way to say anything nicely
still I slow as I turn and
you never asked for it back
I dared you to, though—
you have to give me that
-alt er :ed
Redondo, a so ft Dakota;
l if ted, l if ting, f it ted,
and fit -ing.
send me an Am /er i ca
saf er to
th e touch.
England be _gets New;
Virginia, bro ken lad der
by th e seas ide_
paper airplane s from a fire escape
in Jersey City Heights.
Arabi to Gary, Chica go blue and
“we-don’t-see-nothin” shot up in
co ffee shops,
con do mini um glut
and ho me_ of t he brave.
Your burned Chevrolet,
signal fl are, an d budding
drunk act r [esses_
empire (-ing)
soft for the camera
_)when turn (-ing) away.