jade palm
An Ode To Your Flickering Brain Cell
I listen to my two roommates discuss
their opinions on the latest hit TV show drama
and I decide, right then,
that I am the architect of the universe.
It’s the only way to make it back to my room
without weeping at the collective
consciousness & the way
everyone breathes through their mouths
like they’re trying to taste the pollution.
Yes, I'm wrapping my superiority around me
like a high-thread-count scarf.
While the woman ahead of me is staring
at a self-checkout screen
as if it’s an artifact from a dead civilization.
*Unexpected item in the bagging area.*
The unexpected item is her soul, clearly.
Or a lack of basic awareness.
I tell myself:
I am a lighthouse & they are
unmanned tugboats made of wet cardboard.
I nod to my own reflection
in a puddle of spilled neon Gatorade.
We understand each other,
me & the puddle.
We both know how to hold a shape
while the rest of the world
just drips & dissolves
& confuses fate with the lack
of personal motivation.
It’s lonely at the top,
but the view of stupid
is breathtakingly
panoramic.
ፕᏒıᎮᎮყ
stiff depot
sharp quiver
cosmic verge
hidden skiff