Real Talk at the Crow Bar Moon

New Moon  September 22, 2025

My garden, my life, my poems—

            a planned disorder

                                    —Stanley Kunitz, undated journal entry

Practice for last wrongs

go askew, go awol, get out

roll dank tobacco, wear one oily sweater

bewildered by ones body

leer at jets pregnant roar in nimbostratus

call like you belong to the local murder

knock for relief on strangers’ socials

demanding a podcast or a dm

with someone who has never lost their mind

pretend at ease

feign unafraid

mask despair

crack these anonymous eggs

into the panoramic x-ray

of a protein-rich breakfast

talk about yourself

as a kind of being

unmet until the meal

was nearly done.