Every day there is always at least

one moment I stand outside of.

Life is a constant bleed. I try

to be careful with words


to not let my knuckle smear the ink.

Every necessary task violates a law

I wish existed. In the yard

a rim of white somehows into being


on the leaf of a nameless weed. Imagine

yourself so small it sounds

like a lightbulb popping. Unless you don’t

have to imagine.