and i have nothing

to look forward to

so i might as well enjoy

this page right now

as the coffee

sits in the cup

as my ass

sits in the chair

i haven’t looked

out the window

because i’m sure

it’s the same bush

waiting for me:

sharp, dry,

and violent against

my getting over it

rooted like the weekdays

the hours and the wages–

it’s there rain or shine

twelve feet out

my back-door

and no escape.