sunlight,
sunlight,
sunlight.
beacon me home
like the smell of goodnight.
i'm always half-blind
& always in denial
that i'm half alive.
it wouldn't hurt
to trade the coffins in my mind
for memories of your blonde streaks
& white fists for black lives
in coffee shops
around the corner.
why am i buying all of this free art,
anyways?
your nose is in the books,
your heart
in the
right place.