“My sailboat is out
here,
in the desert,”
a ruddy arm’s line leads
to a ***** fingernail
“the beach was over here.” It all
used to make sense to me once.

There are stains in the carpet,
but I can’t remember the story behind them.
“Oh!”
a half full glass tilts, breaks.
there are reasons to believe in the tedium.
The water crawled forward,
back, and never again.
I was doubting it all down the line.

They rationed joy and I felt my feet as they dried.

If my life was trying to get from one place to another,
it would be like this.

I’m doubting it all down the line.
It’s a hard place to be.