take this to be about capsizing
thanks to a call from a hotel bathroom
and the very final resistance
to verify my existence
i will vilify this
fucking
distance
so you can crush my revisionist insistence
on our unfortunate persistence
okay cute
and well - i think it must be sometime after christmas,
and well - you are throwing up in a fucking sink
living numbly over coffee
from half ten to four in the afternoon
sometimes my eyes go like my father. distant
sometimes i hold my tongue like my mother. not enough
i am done speaking and writing for awhile.
feelings exposed makes me feel like an awful human and it is too exhausting to live that way.