1. days spent.
the albatross came with a wingspan
great and unending. it strayed
for a moment, getting caught
in telephone wires but managing to
break free in the end. the elephant in
the room was unmoved, whispering
"what really makes things literary
is the conceit."


2. running.
blue and red lights flash behind me.
the dark purple bruises under my eyes don't respond,
feet shuffling to comply at knocks and fingers
fumbling with getting the window down in time.
i don't look the officer in the eye as i pass him
pieces of paper i assume are correct.
the windshield is invisible if you ignored the spider
web cracks on the passenger side. it's a reminder
from ancient times i'd like to think i don't remember.
"do you know how fast you were going, miss?"
last time i checked i wasn't moving, sir.


3. dreamt.
by the time we reached the destination, my feet were blue
and yellow and frozen. but i am okay, and it was otherwise safe.
we are standing at the edge of the world; it is nothing we haven't seen
before. i point to the planets crashing into one another,
the sad suns spilling out of my eyes and forgotten immediately.
ahead there is an expanse of darkness, coldness, nothingness.
i take your hand. we have known this place for a very, very long time.