for Pinky Weitzman

Blind men touching, we reach for tenebrous contact details.
On this spun third stone, we’ve formed fabulous contact details.

She was eleven, and gave me the kiss that swore off soap
for days. Then, in a passed note, her glabrous contact details.

Passed from one to one, the beginnings of an afflicted
network. Giddy, she whispered her leprous contact details.

Her mom liked to go driving in the evening, by herself.
Relaxed her. He burned the adulterous contact details.

They have two lines. A princess phone. Pushbutton in the kitch.
His loaded mom gave mine the prosperous contact details.

Betsy in the bomb shelter. Vicky in the trashed rec room.
Sucking face and sweets can cause cankerous contact details.

Curb. Date. Park. Elbow. Panic. Interview. Nouns turn verby,
cramming dictionaries with amorphous contact details.

Head an organization, toe the mark, butter the bread,
bread the cutlet. Detail the various contact details.

You don’t say. Well isn’t it a small world. He likes the same
thing. Lemme jot down some gregarious contact details.

Cut To: Suburban Street, At Dusk. What alienation
has ever been so fab? Cue clamorous contact details.

Kicking the can all the way home where it’s too dim to see
what’s misplaced in not-yet-ubiquitous contact details.

Amid the bonfire smoke a whirl of burning business cards.
Stoked, I am gasping for fissiparous contact details.