Each of us, in turn, has to answer, in one word,
the question: What are you feeling?

In December no less, when it gets dark at four
and this classroom’s been double-booked.

Another band of politicized marginals
prowls restless in the corridor

I learned the secret of serenity
by waterboarding daffodils.
My Buddha is landfill.
My mantra choked

I love your world, he said, just keep it to yourself —I love your mouth. In a Star ...