A cockroach in the grass is so different from a cockroach
on the bathroom floor. This is how I’ve learned my empathy
is conditional, how I learned that I’m just another body
in space, in context, running into walls like a Roomba,
which by the way did you hear was gathering your info?
Making a comprehensive map of your house? This is why
we put electrical tape over our webcams and leave the shower
running. Because someone told me that the world is just a game
of survival. This rings like stone against stone in the cold
of the night. I mean, I wish I could trust the lines of my palm.
I wish it was so simple. I’ve come to believe, instead, a life is
made mostly of small talk and forgetting details. Everything
defined by what it’s not. An iconoclast must have a door
to throw their body against. So how much of this poem
will you actually remember when you leave this page?
I let my words form shapelessly in my mouth. They fall
from me like mistakes into a punch bowl. In this beautiful
-ly lit room. The decorations nice, but not too over-the-top.
Everything is so perfectly composed all the time,
and I’m just no good at that. Every part of me spins
in regret. Once, when I was younger, I drilled a hole
right through a mountain. I shouted the things I thought
you needed to hear when you were open, like the morning.
I pulled the sword up from the darkness, but truth changed
the farther I got from the source. Now, I sleep,
and my inaction is unavoidably loud. I’ve come to believe
in this idea of potential because there are so many boats
that haven’t sunk yet. There are so many TV shows
that haven’t been canceled. I’m coiling my spring tighter
and tighter, but I don’t know how much longer it can hold.