Yes.

Unfortunately, the mind is in the shape of a gun

or rake. Happenstance and sin brought us close

together before we robbed the bank. We kissed

in the elevator, brought people to their knees.

Parents hate it that the children love us.

We are not supposed to, but we win, and win, and win.

We watch the ballgames naked, on the couch,

shouting that that was a foul, hoping for record numbers

of threes, buzzer-beaters. It’s just us, nobody else. To consider

yesterday or the day before is to make a waterfall flow upward—

forget about the violence, the silence it takes,

the pouting clerk, her eye makeup a weeping wall of gray submission.

Everything underneath a mask is a broken doorbell,

a disappearing mineral deposit, a phone ringing

in somebody else’s house. I love it when you take

charge, when you tell the room— in your lovely scream—

to shut up, to keep calm, that it will all be over soon.