Earthquake Weather

My anxiety is a fork between my 3rd and 4th rib, pushing the food around a plate on the side

I’ll only tattoo the left side of my body, always monochromatic, for my father and godchildren

The air buzzes with before-thunder tinnitus

There won’t be any girls left in Utah for me to adopt

And I’ll be buried in Brooklyn

I’ll die in a blaze of gunfire, but most definitely just a motorcycle accident

All our daughters are manic depressive