NO,

Paige Lewis

more poems opening with birds more obscenities in wet cement more throwing darts at the map
and pulling them out again more untweezable splinters more years where god took everything
for the team more bad news stampeding from envelopes more opalized bones more spies behind
the curtain more using diamonds to cut diamonds    more keeping one eye on my drink more I

more you with your tongue so warm it melts my gum more voices soft with talk of favorite
children more underground cities and overgrown gardens more middle names that carry on my
name more poems ending with death more fingers sticky with dates more star-dusted windows
more here more space for your letters which have spread fast as lichen along my walls