Calm

The crickets are loud enough
to drown the sorrow
for as long as you can take it.
Each puff blind
burst
orange and stinging.
Sometimes only half a smoke before
sorrow soars above the crickets;
you rush back in
constant hum and rattle.
Soon once again it lures you back,
and once again it’ll deem you worthless.

Yeow


Yeow, rich girl,
in a sexy yellow car.
Oh, let me leap in,
we needn’t go far—
And your head
is a fucking
Sunflower
which is being smushed in your
(What’s that called?
the distance between
your head and
the roof of a car)

in your zero head-clearance car,
which is STILL yellow,
as I pull away.


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A Bit Further In

I felt lift
the lifting handle move
of a crouch car door grab.

Like I was the tactility-enhanced model
of a spatially normalized dark-explorer.

A voice perked up,
glad for not forgetting the coffee;
Its little ears vanish.