heard the hustle of automobiles down Oakland and the gargle of the radiators.
Put coffee in a filter and water in a pot.
Listened to you snore as you ignored your alarm clock.
I've been awake for twenty-eight hours.
My fault, I know.
This is my doing and I am wrong.
Called late. Drunk and Excited.
Walked over. Drunk and Excited.
Said I was Ice. Drunk and Excited.
And you were right. Drunk and Excited.
And I'm permafrost now still.
writing quietly so not to break your slumber.
wiped tears from my face, carefully so not to disturb you.
possessed by an Idea--a Tinder--an Accident.
the funeral procession marches silent, perpetually across the mind
all the killers that jump out of closets with knifes and hammers
and I told you I was scared of everything
that was true enough
yesterday is today still.
no night-time obscurity to separate exterminate or alleviate the headache
perhaps you'll wake up and leave soon
return the bed to its proper owner:
the bed on which I'll collapse to dream in the afternoon
of Andrew in the land of 10,000 sonnets.