THATS GOOD IM GLAD
i’m eating quiche for dinner again, at a different coffee house.
a guy made a metaphor about trains entering and leaving the station.
it was a snoring metaphor. the way he said it i think it might be
a common idiom that i have somehow avoided familiarity with.
what is this. so little gets through my neck and arms and fingers.
everything i say is the budding tip of a dead branch, crunched
away from the trunk. when something that is happening seems
small but deadly and pain continues to unwrap us to the cutting wind,
i remember too late that we will all be dead and this is merely
an interview of us by our more mitigated older selves.
“matter of life and death” feels like a strange thing to say.
for a moment i flashed into the future, from where i critique the
slug that is me right now. like the time i was too intoxicated
by a substance my mom bought me, and proceeded to tell my best friend
that deep down i believed all women had a duty to be mothers.
nothing on the internet matters. i wish i could just be eating honey
all the time. not really. a bible verse comes to mind about
packing your enemies overfull with beautiful things like that.
love me til my hearts stops. til i love the passing of time.
the scene where the two men are in their house, reading silently.
one says he would feel ok if they died right then. the other one
dies some short time later. not what the one who spoke it had in mind.
there is nothing on the internet.
im hungry and not only can i not grow or prepare food,
i don’t know what food is.