Before I was Stephen
  I was Steve.
Even earlier: Stevie.
A baby, a boy, an abnegation_
  I was
A pigeon who declared
  himself endangered.

Jacob waits
    with coiled intention.
My rival,
    my friend.
I push through sheets
    through sheets
to him
    and find only shadow.

The night it pulls,
or does it proffer? 

A ladder of streetlamps
climbs uptown 
to a window.

A sash a sill
a hand
belongs to Jacob.

Cam (Scott’s sister): Hey, douchbag, I can hardly read your stupid cartoon.
Scott: Oh…uh
[Scott posts another copy]
Scott: Sorry readers.

Business Class

Eight grand USD
  gets the hi def screen
mousse au chocolat
  duvet for the knees
side table, cognac_
  fifteen cubic feet.

Tweet?
Is there an echo?
  Is there an end to this maze?
Or just steps in 
  darkness that,
  soon or late,
  will fade?

Why worry?
I know what you’ve 
  been thinking.
Just think about it this way:
Every day
Just find one beautiful 
  Thing to say.

Click here.
Lower. Left clavicle_
OK, now the disclaimer:
99% post-consumer material.
Can’t be washed with whites.
I often change my mind.

Say you won’t take them, well_
Two of them are right now
  somewhere on this Earth,
Laying nose to nose,
  toe to toe.
Scheming.