is in my old gray Muji pajamas.
It's squishy in the hole in my head
though when I itch back there
I feel a thrilling twinge of forgetfulness.
Lumpy Brooklyn Saturday news
comes in fantasy pancake form with eggs.
I preen in the mirror like someone
would preen in the movies. My messy
heart is a bad habit smeared all over
my face. Now I'm walking around
my apartment looking for something
interesting and smooth. Now I'm
washing the dishes and mumbling
"This is great! I'm alive in Brooklyn!"