excavation

living like we do on this precipice

of disaster, a wavering truce

with the forces to keep our

cores intact, we start the day a little broken

but there’s all this goodness in it,

in your vulnerability and mine

this weekend and this season

this reality of fragile pieces

            you sleeping next to me

            sighing

            in dream

also, it’s the season to cut people off

no one’s disposable but also

there’s too much toxic

            in the communication

            channels

            she says she’ll write to me in one week. It’s not

            a permanent severing. there’s just only so much energy

            I can give (she’s a taker)

            (or maybe I am)

            (maybe I shouldn’t

            put people

            into categories)

after the sun sets I bide my time

before undertaking the epic rewiring

my brain rolls out untethered

and I flick through its draws

and there’s me, aged 5

locked in the bathroom, internal

compass spinning out of whack

I think what I’m trying to get at

is the way we keep going

or something. waxing lyrical,

seb calls it my trippers logic

but I think

do whatever you can

to find the beauty in it

just do whatever

you can