you wanted an update but there was a lot of snow
and i was shoveling out my eyes and wrists
and so i didn't have a lot of time with my skin and i really don't have
anything to tell you, glazing my eyes with megalithic architecture on slides
and a raised hand, sitting in a desk in a dolmen where i'm burying half a
diet pepsi in a circle on my forehead, puking money through fleshy plastic
chapstick onto a syllabus labeled 42.211.202, while
hiring silverfish with my hangnails, job description: keep me awake.
i'm two hours sleep marked up in html and caffeine,
wearing sleepy jeans over sarsen thighs, these jello ankles squishing through boots,
and i'm waking up, firing things that go bump in the night, screaming screw you to a
sheep shaped like a junior, this kid at my door saying, "are you over me?" with the lights off.
he looks at me with my nyquil-bound eye contact and a hand on the door while
i'm saying, "i want to sleep," and he walks away without the overdose lingering in the hallway that
settles like a mortise on my tongue for a few thousand years.
"please," i send to the boy who lives in my phone and my hometown,
who tells me he'd marry me if he didn't like guys so much, who's
visible then real then cosmic, carrying me piggyback through a hall i don't have to touch.
"please," i say, "i'm going crazy." i'm on the phone and my teeth
start clicking like a keyboard. i keep biting my lips to shut them up.
"been outed again," i say conversationally.
my hands only shake once as i ease the last of the diet pepsi into a cold coffee mug.
he pauses. "i wish i knew what to tell you."
there's nothing new except the alfredo bowing below my lungs
and the scotch tape on the walls.
i have a dictionary and an eighty dollar book
and an ipod with your smeared thumbprint
and a dream about a girl with lighter hair
and a gasoline watch that doesn't tell time.