the sound could be anything;
but i imagine it is you
in our bedroom above my head
packing your belongings
executing your escape
because finally you have figured
while my heart beats in my chest
like a hamster clawing
at its wheel, and i shy away from noises;
if i don’t hear them they aren’t real.
and with my face against the floor
i notice a hole where the baseboards are
through which mice come and go
and spiders have piled up in corpses
like mistakes & those who make them.
Written at 8:57 at night, in my office, in Agoura Hills CA.