Why I drink with my eyes closed
I almost calmed the crossfire. And again,
there’s two of me and neither is that hungry.
My coffees are like baby seas. But just
because they’re low, that doesn’t mean they’re deep.
And we are targets; we are swans, and trains,
we’re organs, drops, and reams, and paper boats.
Our buses run on chocolate in their veins;
they’re slowly getting slower. And again,
in August, when I build myself a home,
my windows will come out to a wall.