10/16/19 219AM


i live in a series of airlocks

where i can scream quietly

each one less furnished than the next


a beige junker, strewn with trash

ashes from dash to bumper

i scream so loud

the car blows holes in the exhaust

and it just gets louder


a windy monolith, tranquil in the rain

stains on my chest and my heart skips

at strangers who walk like ghosts


a stuffy rat’s nest, imperious art

framed funeral carts, hanging meat for rotting

deep roiling a hopeless debate


each door opens with a groan

and closes with a scream