... Then I Woke Up and Found I Had Become an Equation

I wasn't looking for a fight, or even for a number, despite

being made of them. Made of numbers, that is. Fear cannot

be measured. The distance between me and my fears

is not calculable but is definitely shrinking? One side of me

is a dot. The other an ampersand. As an equation I don't even

make sense. Separateness holds me accountable.

I wasn't looking for invention, as such. The articulation

of fears or perhaps just of my joints. For I do bend in ways

that cannot be measured. I am measured in my

calculations. The point at which all things must break.

(Must be broken.)

I wasn't looking for accountability. Just a few quick

swigs of darkness and then back into the fray. The goal

of drinking is not to protect the floor. Just remember

not to let them touch you next time.

Draw it out...

Never let them touch you.

The Men That Show Up Magically At My Door

Fancy that. I mean, I'm not that fancy but maybe

this hat will do? Tell it like it's saturation. I other

to have longed. On the surface of it, it's easy.

You'd better digress just a bit. Our "o"s turn into little mouths

and run screaming; oh loveliness. We gape,

work, and the idea of work I keep forgetting how to pronounce.

Cautiously, comma—tongue first. Hip thrust deep

in imagination startle response. Slowly. No,

world is a mouth or maybe just a heap, a pile

of sound. No matter how many times

I'm really not that good at any of this.