on the living room speakers. My roommate walks 
down the stairs. Closes the bathroom door. The reading 
was on April 10, 1987 in Buffalo. Smells like June. 
Little things don’t happen anymore. Roommate to the 
kitchen. Tupperware from the fridge. The states whistle. 
Anyone can live. Put it in the microwave. I turn Alice 
up. Who are you to dare sing to me. A fork from the 
drawer. Taste it. Back in the microwave. Again the hum. 
I am not doing anything doing this. Who loses these 
names loses. I am on the couch trying to be moved by 
one of the great elegies of the twentieth century. The 
roommate is hungry. These are noble pursuits. Anybody 
in any room is a smuggler. Cup from the cabinet. Brita 
filter from the fridge. What a waste of sheets at night. 
The cool water.