again light blinds through my windows
yet I’m not incensed with a fury to write.
maybe the Divine is toying with me
to see-saw the clouds so
I can’t get a sense of the day

I’m wearing two sweaters.
the one you picked
and a useless one without pockets.
who the **** kind of a monster
would create such a thing?

I’m angry today and cussing into my poetry
the way you strangers cough into your arms
so aggressively nowadays.
did you know sneezing on someone
makes you a terrorist now?

I would give anything for a sneeze of yours.