Jane Jacobs did draft chiaroscuro taunting landscapes for common divorce

northern trotter abandoning soft skin dorsal mates en tangible,
where the children are grown, having left the carpark bench,
I do not know how to subject this ardent space with calluses
on walls with familiar stenches, I am imprinted by her cold
fierce smell, it will not leave, the waters of Costa Rica
do not cleanse me, sterilize me, not to the extent to allow me
a new start or harboring accident that I might mail to China.

the soft vegetation between my toes, I smell, in my stomach
passively, but does not offer perfumes or a notice or entreat
of regret or even remorse for having come near you on that
first day as if I had a more than a moment, you were so hungry,
and I, could not consider, between the CIA interludes and spatial
harmonics, I was happy to break your fast, you were grateful, hope,
but only for a moment, that lasted long enough for your flight to Japan.

gold reserves causing sinus infections for the mass hungry dwellers,
good friends never leave an arena of proximity, or vanish like city
nightshades, chiaroscuro taunting landscapes where Jane Jacobs
smokes cigars with Pierre Abraham Lorillard in cafes in the Dominican,
like two sovereign states coalescing upon downpours of salt and transit
tainted raincast rocks like those you took with you where you lost your love,
Corcovado National Park, where you tried told hold the marriage together