how am i supposed to write with you looking over my shoulder
averting glances across tables.
there should be a swinging bulb above their heads –
interrogation of psycho analysis.
except this can be escaped, walked away from or
dealt with via pints and pints.
april 26th // 27th
slow moving time
fluffed up with conversations normal people don’t have.
boundaries undefined in the brain, not translated to language.
off to another bubble. I venture between them,
permeating strange veils with grace yet hesitance.
to find myself sitting in a dark room of cautious Midwesterners.
they clap quiet and cloy over the three hour cabaret.
the rain hasn’t stopped. a passerby mentioned only tourists
carry umbrellas here. but I am malevolent to the damp night.
the next morning brought waterlogged cars
strange smells flowing in and out my nose, origins unknown.
I’m becoming less sensitive by each second.
flatlining – but, then,
it’s nice. we make our own rules. play Frida Kahlo
and traipse after desires a bit willy-nilly.
branching out to empires beyond this one.