life

looks good to me. this is fine. approved.

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hosting angels is easy when you’re all alone

no

complications

till they go off and invite you to gatherings

specifically! mentioning who will not be present

you’ve forgotten

the scourge of December in previous years

wrecking you and decorating you

with an excess of vowels you cannot spit out

wishing you could

let someone complete your sentences for you

or even!

pull words from your throat when your tongue is otherwise occupied

searching the walls for thumbtacks

(leftover)

and yet

I must say that heel-to-snow feels better already

gold in your glass feels better

already

and I think this time I’ll

listen to the deck

wolf scraps

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did I summon you?

with these sounds I thought were only mine?

floating

rising

in the dark of my room

pinching back the present

to let ancient waters flow through

and in the morning

you arrived!

(in a small, small way)

without me knowing I wanted you

had called you

had been waiting all this time

and the crest recedes as I reach for the note

where you ask me

(as you have countless times before)

how many shades of blue I can see before 9 am

bad feelings club

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here they come gnawing

relentless

impervious to threats and kicks to the throat

under stale skies

clouds (finally)

but even they’re dried up

what a mess.

less than zero is?

who fucking knows or cares

smells like maple syrup and shawarma on this side of town

don’t mind.

kind of like it.

miss home though.

amaranth by the pound

or was it teff?

can’t recall

wonder if you’re taking care of the skyline like I asked

probably not

got things of your own I’m sure

saw a picture of some trees you took from below

wasn’t that great of a shot but

maybe you were happy when you took it?

not me though

not even

the power of my own thighs can cheer me tonight

maybe if I pedal hard enough

I will take flight

or

option two (just as good)

my tire will clip a rock and I’ll be thrown from the planet

into the night/onto cement

where all the blood trapped for 20 odd years

will rush to the wound

(an escape!)

and I’ll be left quiet and waiting for someone to notice me

in death as in life

and the local authorities will find my phone with this poem on it

and my grocery list

(cashews, eggs, “good” cheese)

and texts I should have taken care

to delete oh well