sitting cross-legged in the bathroom

eating spaghetti

i am alone (but you are not alone)

there are 2 scabs on my toes from shoes expired in 2000

and a glass of wine on a nearby ledge, 2/3 full. 

optimism.

it's time to bury this leaf in mud's melting pot.

run from the reaper to convince myself there is

still flesh in the body of your sentences

but karma surrounds

me with jumping spiders, those reincarnates of resentment.

amber showers fossilize love's learnings,

skeletons of desire, disaster, indulgent boners.

dna of a woman woven together,

tattered patterns make my

slumbers' blanket.

sleep to remember.

sleep to forget.

and goodnight.