here they come gnawing
impervious to threats and kicks to the throat
under stale skies
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
kind of like it.
miss home though.
amaranth by the pound
or was it teff?
wonder if you’re taking care of the skyline like I asked
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
the power of my own thighs can cheer me tonight
maybe if I pedal hard enough
I will take flight
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
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