I'm handling an unprecedented change
– in modern times, anyways –
with much more elegance
(or at least competence)
than I would have guessed.
I'm much too stressed to properly introspect,
but I'm occasionally caught questioning if this is the greatest story of my time –
if I should really be hiding out
(crying and nursing a Modelo and lime)
or out finding what our story is
and documenting it for those who come after this – if anything comes after this.


We're all just a bunch of kids
standing on the beach
with the waves crashing on us,
all ******* undertow:
sea salt and ocean spray.
Child's play drowned
under the realization
that nature is so ******* big
and that we are so miniscule
in retrospect:
how can humanity,
practiced at circumventing empathy,
come together to weather this calamity?
Is this just an illness
or a symptom of a sickness
that's been waiting to arrest our
brutish tresspassing
since we stole our first trembling breaths
and didn't give them back?