I don’t know where I fall
as I watch myself idle
through life with that
weighted vest you saw
on Amazon on my back

So, I lay down on a chaise
with a book of fiction
to imbibe someone else’s
life of bold grandeur
inside my inactivity

It knows more than us,
but is still artificial
and anonymous
If we allow it to
be autonomous
we will be left
pounding salt

I walk aimlessly
to drumbeat my
inexorable grief
and I always end
up back where I
started; home

My left sock with
a gaping hole
is the air I need

I’ve been trying
my whole life to
scratch the bird

Sometimes, I like to store
my emotion in a shirt
pocket because then
I can take it out and
look at it before I throw
it into a street gutter

A bottle pops open
and nothing spills out
because this whole time,
I’ve been the confetti

But my disdain is tantamount
to a horse-drawn carriage
running over your left foot
while you are wearing Crocs
and trying to balance a
cocktail umbrella on the tip
of your broken finger

Bodies wandering past
Minds so far away
Windswept and oblivious

Walking through life in a slight haze
waiting for the rusted anvil to drop
and expecting that stop sign to bend
is a feeling of unfettered malaise

Look in the trash can
over at the edge of
the parking lot and you
will find the remnants
of me making copies

A rhythmic display of time and space
intertwined with butterfly wings
looking like a parachuter's eyes
through the fear in their goggles