Servings Per Container About 6
I pulled a wrapper from the soda bottle smashed in the street and called it text. And the words still shake from the tire burn, the weight of the concrete beneath them. They are thankful to be immortalized by their carbon shadow, and mock, almost howl at the paper straw dissolving in my latte and the news ink smudging thumb prints on your cheek.
planes pass your window every minute and even an orange helicopter your leaves take the sun the white sun and you run slender fingers through your midnight haircut and the one you gave Sam and the cheery bottle tip of the last of the black bottle of drip of berry wine at midnight of last night you see a plane to the left and much further the right and they see one another and this means minutes you microwave coffee and speak ginger poems to the planes give them names and cool your forehead on the glass
In so far
I know that the Rodin at the Harvard Art Museum is in front of the Monet for a reason. I choose where to put my plants based on where the shadows fall. I eat rice twice a day. I have nothing else to say about the sky greying. It was too white outside to see the snow at 4 pm but now it’s black. I forget the American spelling of gray and don’t want to be mistaken for someone who adds u’s to neighborhood and color. I think this is funny because I hate Anglophiles. My blankets are a ball on my bed and I’m the pink lump next to them. Together we are your favorite piece by Louise Bourgeois. I start talking about yellow when I decide I’m done with apathy. I drink orange juice and listen to Orange Juice. I decide that I’ll never continue a conversation with someone who self-identifies as an asshole and that peonies are a watery pink and to think about Elizabeth Bishop peeing on the floor and how New England smells like salt and freezing wind. I listen to the news while a candle burns down to the glass and dance around my apartment in my girlfriend’s underwear. If I stand in the sun I’ll be sunshine, maybe even red and burning and enormous. I come to an informed decision about who I’m voting for and knock on every door in America. I never leave my room because the internet can show me Iceland and Nairobi and the houses on the street where I grew up. I lose my footing on the stairs and do a timestep. I choose the body wash for sensitive skin. I push my school building into the Boston Harbor and buy a plane seat at a ticket counter. I put the flat green soda bottle in the gutter in this poem and the next one.⅋