Scroll. Tap. Breathe.

this morning weighed nothing
I am still unsure it even took place
I woke to the thin level of ordinary
running its hands across my knees
and then somehow found summon
was soon boarding an 8:12 bus
and looping my hands around the sleepy grip
of the unspeaking city

this day did and did not happen
and I have no proof of either
I did not picture a poem yawning its way
out of my bone-sung jaw
did not think to myself,
              scrolling, tapping, breathing,
I know just the thing to soften
this welling scream, the pitting well, this pity
this blueflush urge to shatter coffee mugs
and face the dreamy-eyed lyrics
of our yearbooks
that had said we’d be somewhere better, by now

not every cut has a colour
not all collapse has a name

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