i think the thing i miss most is people
i’m a sort of ghost myself,
haunting my possible futures
dreaming of the day i can walk into a bar
with an open mic and say
well i haven’t really prepared anything
but here’s an old song
How it’s going: pt. 5
subways
How it’s going: pt. 4
the more spaces
in which existence is held
the larger the frame of reference
of the lizard brain
i remember, i remember,
your mind screams
when you’re running
How it’s going: pt. 3
there’s no other word for mind
nothing else feels like
the soft molding of clay
in the right hands
How it’s going: pt. 2
our next guest
is borderline at best
the finger rises
becomes a hand
i slink from the wall
instinctively
How it’s going: pt. 1
most mornings the bells ring
and i squint with what i hope
are fresh ears
against the curtain walls
and try to discern the echo
whatever love say, i do
i play the odds,
i like my chances
i pull rank on the white car
and my panting delights the sky
how hard to breathe, now,
under the hood?
