something imperceptible to anyone but
us, hairline fracture tweak and shift.
the air tastes different as the clouds
hang low. the house feels off as my
laundry piles higher like tower 2,
begging to be else
where. i’ve put it all off
for too long.
sullen leaves blend with the trash, yet i
won’t avoid the crunch on the
street where i live. a dull hum hangs in both
the air and my head, the energy
different for both of us. cooking
is now an Everest to conquer, and my
brain kernel panics.
how will things look this time
next year, and
the year after that?
same as it ever was, even
upside down. we are still each
other, spun out.