i do not think about
the persian gulf or
the turkish avenue and i
do not look at the sluggish part of
my heart that is on
the ground. instead i am
content with piles of taffy
and tired eyes
tied like ships,
soggy chamomile tea and misty pieces
of noise. i laugh
in the spots where
there are none and
i choke on holograms
during intermission like
holding fast to the smell of salt.
(they made me think of you)