The air in my room

Hangs a static curtain

Over hours spent nibbling and chipping.


At nighttime it sinks, cold and secretive,

So I wrap it ‘round tighter—

A reminder

That my limbs exude heat.

See it grow darker,

Go blinder,


My desire


Until it wakes me with a whisper,

Invasive and magnified:

“Do something,


Wake up and do something.”


The pit of my stomach a viscous coma,

I tell it

There is nothing to do;

There’s a penny letting itself roll down the hill

And nowhere is there anything to do.

“There’s always something,” it says,


Undemanding and beautiful.

Play a game with me,” it hums.

I silently fold into myself.


“I’ll favor you,

I’ll knock the odds loose for you,


It tugs at the unseasoned oyster of my life— but

Afraid to lose,


Afraid to lose,


clench the fickle ends of my paths

and twist them into sticky pessimism.