picking up the phone and dialing your number from memory
tapping on the beaming LED screen in my blackened and frigid room
it sends me into a lycanthropic frenzy
I shed the skin of a plagued, maddened hermit and
mutate into a gregarious, fluttery seraphim
when your “hello” melts through the receiver to greet me
it makes Annie Clark sound like a rattled wasp nest
when I pace around my room, telling you about my day
I feel like I’m weaving adventures together just to feel your warmth
through the phone pressed against my oily cheek
the clock whirlpools helplessly trying to figure out the time
as if it had got caught up in our banter and forgot about its job
but even if the clock can’t set the time straight, the sun does
when it creeps its ugly head above the horizon, I hear a mumble
then a quiet “go to bed” and a “goodnight”
and I shrivel back into the saddened lunatic I once was