You know something wrong by its difference from
something right

In this portrait, I failed and it fit
me like a hollow twin.
In that stale apartment
I deflate.
In reduced circumstances
less and less happens.


Scissors on the table.
What do they do there?
Where is their strong word? In


a settle of disrepair. Anything caught
in creases stays there.


Having made others do it
I didn’t even invent being old.
Objects ranged at hand
from tissues to the phone


in the wrong order.
A big-lensed wait. A lax chin.
The skin fit. I nailed it up.