from binge-watching the night

I’m embarrassed about being a bad driver, among other things. I sweat too too much in the winter




seasonal depression piggybacks regular depression

I must change shirts three or four times a day.
a spotlight points at my dreariest, always circles back:

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this is where I fishtailed this is where I skid to a stop this is where Allison never messaged me back or I slipped and fell in the Italian restaurant

for Christmas my girlfriend’s mother gave us a happy lamp and a set of grow-it-yourself microgreens

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we settle in for another blizzard we settle in for the usual habits, reality tv, tv tv, home projects my stircrazed collapse my shirt, soaked-through a heaping pile of shirts, damp redux

my bay windows keep nothing at my windows are great black pictures of nighttime a diesel truck with a spinning yellow light trespasses my pictures, ploughs the lot

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I do so much laundry the dryer puts holes in my socks I have a plan to make a plan to darn the holes up




I could put a finger through the screen of my life I could put a finger through the screen of my life I chase my finger all the way home I try to delight in it

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This is where ------- I hate typing my name points and so I go




I misread so much every oh an on every on an in every coming on each each each narrows and disappears

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The movie theater in my hometown is called Silver Screen and for years as I child I thought silk screen when I meant to think paper screen or paper view instead of pay-per-view

I could put a finger through the paper screen of my life. Every image that ran across would fall through.

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I’m bothered by the inability for real touch. I poke on the air or my finger just exists in it

A nerve is an archive of want.

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My atoms fail me

in the most basic way. Everything made, makes, breaks, breaks in, breaks down