9.17.17

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

me out.

i listen

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.