The best part is I never lose. The worst part is no one can hide with me. I do not want to be alone. I never want to be found.

You put on some new pants. I put on some sunlight. I put on a coyote. You put on a bigger coyote. You put on all of the coyotes! You put on the sand as it flies beneath your incredible little paws. I put on rain not reaching the desert. You put on how we feel sad after this. You put on the sadness. You put on methods for dealing with it. The sadness tries to put you on but you say No! You wrestle the sadness to the ground. You are big and need large wings. You put on the large wings. You are still a coyote. You put on the howling. You put on things that howl back. There is nothing you won’t put on. You put on the darkness. You put on some stars and even what is between them. You put on the moon. The moon that shines! You put on how we want to stay here! You put on how we forget where we were before. You put on the earth how it cracks. You put on its face when it sees us.

from “Three Pieces” by Kelly Connor, via DIAGRAM

The state I'm in, I'm no good to my medication. Suspended in perma-bobble on the dashboard, traditional Hawaiian garb. I closely brush with a fate I Googled. Nine stringy pie plates skipping on possible's lake. Something that doesn't sit right is my M.O. I stir my drink & the ice wags loyally. This isn't a franchise of the stress hormone cortisol. It's a promise Ferris wheeled by social media. Not going anywhere you couldn't guess, the fear of. I'm stuck in the synapse of my ways, like a crowd-lancing glimpse. The shutting-off TV folds flash like a napkin in its lap. Meditative breath spread- eagled into lungs. Sometimes, doing good by yourself entails a bum deal. A shoal of possible side effects, show of hands from showstoppers. My pharmacist sends me a message, "what's up," on Facebook. I rest my elbows on a burning table. Stir drinks a stone skips across. Gone unexplainable somewhere in an hourly luxury sedan, I kiss an arm with a mean right hook. I learn the hard way if at all possible. You can't divine purpose from a commercial-broken surface, but you can steal away to where hibiscus repeats. When I wrote sunset I meant to write subset. I'm being impolite, but I'm alone. My feet are up on the table up in flames. The excited membrane leaks with spray tan. & I have my doubts about what happens in this shirt's cotton. Breadcrumbs like pageant contestants line behind a curtain. Hearing my name in the crowd I don't turn.

on a rock describing water

first favourite poem of 2014, go and read it