A spoonful of night, self- medicating. A stretched day of casual dismissals; hey sunshine, the more I'm smashed the more I give.
Her language, sympathetic to silence, as I binged on a monologue;
Some kind of sick-suck,
I'm the crash
at the bottom of the stairs,
Waiting for the accident to happen.
She is in snow hypnosis,
etiquette of a pulse
peeling her oeuvre,
wall washing sunshine into light.
It's past midnight and I'm spooled.
Diminishing into unsaid words
I recede out of my room,
like a reclusive boss counting workers,
remote, far, impossible to see.