i partake in small pleasures
none taller than a generous glass of something
shimmering and effervescent;
drunken couples stumbling into each other on the street,
off the stoop of the bar;
a text from someone about a poem,
or their quiet evening.

the words "low-maintenance" echo in my cavernous skull,
insulting me,
pace quickening.
indignantly,
i will make demands,
lay plans against my nature.
simple girl!
my lucidity you insist on being a weakness,
certainly feeble desires,
clearly having never seen me gnaw off a limb
for a moment of silence.