I try to imagine you
like names are precursors

or premonitions. You stay
somewhere without a body.

By no means are you
post-modern. I do not need

more sensation, I need more
friends who write. More

who read, and make me feel
uneducated. I want you

to teach courses without
tuitions and still get

a Biothermal dynamics
professor’s salary. You feel

this need for family,
to dance, to misshape the world

as a play. Drama is left
as a nameless reminder

of our love of self-help.
No matter how hard I close

my eyes you never show
or talk or kiss. Tell me

what does your voice sound
like – angel or typewriter?

–Dan Nowak,
Of a Bed Frame
Accents Publishing