big things

big things happen

we’re attracted to the big things

we write about the big things

and then we explode

being a poet is like being on drugs always

sunday morning sadness as strong as

tears on mdma monday no better

with bpd rapid cycling

like cocaine and recycling

all the broken emotions like words

onto paper until it’s all

dissociated from self like ketamine

these emotions aren’t mind i don’t touch

this paper except through a dusky cloud

proud i made it to friday not sure how

saturday sprawls board game words heard

distinctly by the lsd faces sprinkling

the ground like drops in the storm

a high lasts approximately thirty minutes cocaine dance repeat

sundays oxy smiles in the drops on the unbuckled car

windows peers nauseous from below when you stand up

but never lets you throw up whistles in your brain

like the buckets of rain and wind behind closed doors

sunday skips to tuesday and you write down more

—October 2021, Stanford, CA