i-need-a-cigarette

my poetry-writing patterns have become predictable

i'll wake up at 4am, feeling an incredible weight on my arms

and sink to the bathroom with my eyes closed

hearing the sound that math problems make

when you solve them


my glasses give me a perfect view of outer space

from the window looking out of

my six square-foot bathroom.

the trash bin is filled with paper

the morning is empty and yearning

and enormous tiny stars fill the universe