My lifestyle hasn’t changed much
in years. I still save the phrases
in my phone, overhearing
talk in the grocery store and, later, riff.
Words like timepiece and quick
descriptions of others, momentary
mirrors. Words like ration and ruin. Words
like protest and a certain frantic
shopping, as if all the condiments aisle
could fill the chasm in our hearts. I buy
the rice vinegar to dash against
my takeout, and, later, satisfied,
I love it fierce. Alone can be
a comfort and prophecy, even now. Partitioning
myself like a sovereign territory.
Here, I know what seems important:
cigarette smoke, the dream/threat of
looming ruin like sunrise. Sometimes,
it’s hard to exactly verbalize all
I really want and try to say.