forever waiting until i can open the envelope in front of me and find out where i wound up.
i feel winded, twisted in a way that if it happens again i'll crack
end up on the sidewalk trashed and swept into the street by everything happening always and i'm tired
no part of me is lost but i think it would be easier that way, pretending that i have any sort of reason to continue trudging on in whatever muck i stick myself in to
at the bottom of everything, the sewage drains
and it smells like burnt out candles in a drawer
in the river
wet.