barrels.
I get to feeling a bit
punch drunk on
the way things fight out of my vocal
chords. As if one sound
could kill me,
knock the wind right over and smile
with a slight whiff of whiskey
from the mouth of the
character who you
can never make up your mind about.
it can be funny to
look for time in cobwebbed crannies.
they empty. they
fill up with seconds and hours and spiders.
people can laugh, but it’s the sounds
of others forcing their way
down the vocal chords that
will kill me. it’s only reassuring to know
that you know what it feels like to
want to think unlike yourself.
