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