eye of the tiger
blasting in the lyft
heading home to
bed bugs and
Spookytober
he even turns up
the volume
have a great night
could be a nice, clean send-off
I ask my head rhetorically and
barely agree
I can’t remember it resonating
except
for a clear, black winter night
I can’t remember the last time
I felt cute, last night,
in my scrubs?
life will begin again
with long hair
certainly
electricity in some joints
like a doctor poster
in places like knees,
I feel so much a sack
waking up
fuck napping
waking up
worse off
but
just laying
in nothing
I love
I can count the times
I’ve done that
lately I don’t
do that
I walked today
I can count
steps too,
you know when the sun
is just above eye level
a harsh sheet
walking the blasted sidewalks
everyone seems discombobulated
in a Halloween way, limbs hanging
around randomly car doors
swinging and slamming hoods
glinting and my photographic memory
is a car parked on the SIDEWALK
are we in Europe or
was it a Bird and who cared?
it’s literally a blur
I wrote
Drink Chartreuse on My Birthday
and everything went downhill
from there
my favorite color
shirt and ribbon
shredded on
hot and high
the dates are haunting
i.e. on October 14th
Mima was still alive
do you know what I mean?
the following Friday she wasn’t
all the fine lines
between life and death
what else?
I can’t lose ____
I can’t lose ____ !
but we lose it all
on the path
to a full shed
very interesting/
what’s the point
`·.¸¸.·´´¯`··._.·
`·.¸¸.·´´¯`··._.·
the couple outside of Cookbook
dressed as little kids
maybe middle schoolers
tights and socks and
a small purse
she’s swaying nervously
but ironically
he has fluffy hair and
baggy track pants
with skate shoes
they’re embracing a lot
by the parking sign
the October wind
