for Alli Warren
This one's just too good to pass up,
like a sweatshirt without the name of a college.
It's a childish fixation, incubating
with a foursquare tug, an empty gesture
erasing each line of a scratched-in proof.
Maybe it's something to do while waiting
for the walls of the room to pull away,
revealing the cheering crowd.
Here's an orange-legged showcase of salves.
Here's what we might call the "straight face down."
Here's long hair in a tunnel, turned
over and over itself, as if weeds could grow.
Here's another theory of the avant-garde
projected on the bedroom wall.