a night shift

you say that

there’s something

missing in my poems

and i’ll admit it’s you

which is why i write them

so you can find yourself

in me

stifling, silenced

carrying on without

*

i’ve never known

a complete work

just fragments of

wills and whats

and whys

that remind

not everyone

can be great

myself included

being one part everyone

and another part

the bad bits that

gather days

but use nights

for ways to

mistake street lights

as the sun

which i try to piss on

because it isn’t so hot

and i’m even less so

missing

and forgeting to work

in the morning

*

i walked in a circle

like a story being told

because it was good and happy

and i wanted to feel good and happy

with the sun dissolving me

into the larger circle

water becoming gas

where the rest of me

becomes sludge

that stains the street

and rolling hills that flatten

slowly with my footsteps

that flatten all the same

from the hills