—I’M LUCID BUT I STILL CAN’T THINK

chops

i’ve grown

a pair

(or two)

swallowing

these days

big boy-style

grin-and-bear-it

fake-it

-till-you-

can’t-

make-it

night

swimming

with

“the recklessness

of water”

the very thing

i can’t grasp

though i need

the tide to guide

me through

the most bleak

moments

when i’m

dangling on

a ledge

pen in hand

thoughts on the

edge of my tongue

cat there too

looking so

wise and satisfied

licking its chops