aug 2019 // aug 2020

8/4:

i’m a swarm, i’m static, i’m drifting awake at 3AM with

next door’s TV on and the voice of a soccer game

announcer weeping distorted through the walls. i roll

onto my side and the world groans feverish. the bedsheets

are black oil, sticking to my feather-cold skin;

the ceiling hits boiling point, melts and

tastes like plaster. i roll onto my back and the

room splinters loudly. 

8/20:

warm tortillas cinnamon french toast sizzling 

bacon ripe avocado food that makes kaleidoscope

eyes twist with color & taxidermy shops and death

smelling soft like fresh soil & the art

museum like cavers shining a flashlight

through my insides & the way my shoes sound 

hitting the tiles in an empty office supply

store & don’t you want to sing don’t you want to 

run isn’t this something even if it terrifies you?

8/29:

and despair grips my throat with blushing 

knuckles. and we’re manically silent. and the crescent moon

wanes to dawn. and you’re home but the basement’s

reworked and everyone’s cut their hair and

who’s gonna stay up talking till midnight

anyway? lately i wake from dreams with a residual

taste in my mouth. like i forgot to press “record” on

the videotape. i turn on my bedside lamp and tell

myself: it is august. soon it will be september. then

october, then november, and then christmas and new years. it’s

meant to be comforting. 

    ---

7/27:

and i wake with hot glue pouring upwards

from the floor and the TV on in the next room; 

haul my feet on the floor and the world flips 

like a coin. i wake again in bed, facing the other

wall, silence toying the air with a question:

well, is this it yet?