First Day Back From Last Year

Re-introducing the colossal sensibility, my little cat
is the New Sentimentality,

the fluff, the clouds, all flee from the island
where Caliban sharpens his spit,
polishes bone dice

and back in Philadelphia, brotherly grime coalesces
between cheesesteaks

Amir is aloft in front of the U.S. Mint

My breath smells like a furnace and my girl cannot
stop kissing other boys which sounds
funny but it’s not

packed up the suitcase
my most American possession

(apart from the army of Nalgene bottles in the closet)

picked up my backpack (full of forty ouncers)

Biked to the shore, fed a seagull with a chicken bone.

There is something neo-Romantic
about a broken drunk and a lighthouse,

a child with a stick, a book full of sand, nickel slots.