late fees

your eyes turn towards the moon
every time --- some bullshit about how
we reach high just to fall among our dead
I reach for the dead so as to come back up
gasping for air, gaze on the sun instead
yes I’ve hidden myself among many a thing
to remain alive --- like rented dreams
under a butterfly comforter with a light in my hand
afraid to get caught ---
no ---
afraid to be seen buried in a world not my own
the window snatched away
a handful of papercuts left behind
a roomful of walls
a moon, full of sugar
helps the medicine go down.

every time --- back on your bullshit
I love that you never return what’s borrowed
let the library fees rack up
that sweet spoonful sticky in your fist