[Artwork by Paul Pond]

she is riding up the walls and screeching

the raven hair smokes under the low low cards

turning the grass and sleeping in the calm

soft like the shards were, leaping through the wood and splitting open the cracks as the wine is spilling into subtle touches at the door corners

slow into the evening like California, ice into the mind and veins, ice from the Coca Cola rum fizzing out across the edges, splashing the syrup into hands and writing in the bad stomachs and coffee cup full and waiting for the morning

I am gathering dust in the pressed suit, gathering electron shit from the screens and rolling back into sheets at the end of each day falling into sadness and self disgust

falling like we all were, falling away from offices that never had anything to do with anything, haunting the streets to find home, to find whoever said we could be one or more and many all at once

I lost

all of you in Brooklyn, ran from corner to corner and saw them sucked into the pavement and houses, eaten with their ambition of anything beyond this, distracted and suffering, finding the steady deadness of being the same, being nothing more than happy, and incapable of being alone.


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