Poem, I think,
I made
It, I,

I made it!

You said
That was it.

You said
That would be it.

Hey!

Hey!

Hey! Where are you going around that corner with your silver studs and brown taps and absentee ballots and twist tie bracelets and police misfortunes and twister twisters and that half-sister your grandpa could only whisper through whiskey-truth-breath-starlight as we laugh through the magnetic starlight deep-cone in multi-colored snow cones obsessed with how our ankles look in filters not our own, and, disconnected, possibilities, possibilities up there -

And then
We have nothing to connect to

And then
We have nothing to believe in

And then
We have nothing but a reaction
Of a reaction
Of a
Reaction

Based on based

Chaos

Of an upside-down centrism

To only

               keep the balance.