a tiny hummingbird
emitting strange
squawking noises darts
up and down, thirsty
and sucking
desperately
on the dead
tree branches
that loom over the pool;
lunacy can be a form of survival.
i called in sick today;
my left foot is broken, boss.
a warm ten-minute rain
falls as I sit
outside in 102 degrees,
the air like invisible mud,
my keys locked
inside the apartment:
nothing makes sense
so I called in sick today;
my left foot is broken, boss.
i try
to convince CJ to get in
from the roof
through my bedroom window,
two stories up.
he says no.
there’s a dead roach
floating in the pool;
i pick it up
and give it to the ants.
the sun sets at 8pm,
turning all the clouds
as red as bricks;
clouds are giant red bricks
falling
very, very slowly.
i called in sick today;
my left foot is broken
and blue but looks
turquoise underwater.
In the pool
a girl splashes me;
I try drowning her;
she laughs.
I try harder.