Let’s wear shittier clothes
and drink more coffee
Let’s eat peanut butter
and dust the bookshelves haphazardly
Let’s define “darkened luster”
and bleed our hearts
Let’s lose another dulling pencil
and another night’s sleep
Let’s take a stroll around the block
and step in Siamese tandem
Let’s look for poetry in crowded rooms
and the unanticipated sideways symmetry of pinball flippers
Let’s fix our gazes no further
and retire to an away place
Is there any poetry left in you?
Do shadows of words still flit behind your eyes?
Or are the pills what make this shade of magenta?
Have you found every synonym for a good idea?
Where is the mile-marker for too far?
Was this July anochecer born of the bloody, nutrient-rich placenta of yes?
Blackened heels and soles trodden barefoot over someone’s unswept apartment floor–
Black coffee balcony nicotine mornings and
Half-watched movie, impromptu cider nights,
Black ring around the eyes, yesterday’s
Makeup precariously in tact
After one week of our Ted Hughes, shitty shoes, never lose synthetic Bohemia,
Do you have any poetry left in you?