is a small sack I carry in my throat
Of gnawed rawhides & commitments,
Honeymoons & light switches,
Sleep I leave on the nightstand,
Another storm outside, the pathetic fallacy
& dog’s kennel full of pee,
The fridge running, a didgeridoo,
Dry hinges squawking like kookaburras
& paint crusting over in paint cans
At either side of blue hours,
& what collects on the windowsill,
Countless resignations of stone & fire
Ants carting off the sugar granule by granule
& catatonia, if I consider the landfill.