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.