This car is backing up
My engine doesn’t stutter
I like talking more while other people are talking
Learning to merge
The reflections in my glasses
Waves don’t retire
They change shape and direction
The thing that we have in common 
Is we both want more love 
I pictured your mother microwaving ground beef
And your baby face scrunched up in protest
To answer your question
I ended the poem on an image of these particular balls 
Because these balls are a memory of being terrified
Your sweater looks pixelated in 2012
I store all sadness in my temperomandibular joint
Num lock
These streets are hard
Don’t be doughy
I stuff a handful of kale in my mouth
I do something positive
If we meet only once a week
We will always be getting back to last week
Everything I know I learned from the railroad
How to go hard and how to get caught
If you lean on the door
It could open up
And spread you out underground
I thought the pile of salt was snow
I lost track of the season
Cardboard collects on the curb
Like fluid in my knee
Tyson Chandler is a talented chef 
And so handsome when he rebounds
The last warm night of October 
Makes me sweat like a champion
Walking home slow 
I like this window
Loss is a theme
If I could have the same job but without all the pain
Anonymous dozens muscle their way to bars 
Trying to squeeze out a win
A chance to make it happen
Poetry machines
And how you calculate risk
I said this love was forever I meant it
Skating at my old elementary school 
The same janitor who opeedn my box of chocolate milk when I was 5
Called me a faggot when I was 15
Slappy noseslides on the yellow curb 
The day I accepted I'd never have threesixtyflips consistent

If we hit pause the cracks open wider
Her eyes after the third snooze cycle
I see a stream of poets and know you are near
Out of the body into the book
Our guys showed up big
I stay dirty in my no wash jeans
There’s no preseason this year
There never really was