the fridge is warm

i suppose that i wish to see you again

when the times are less chaotic

when there is enough to drink

when there isn’t a catch

when there is if only we catch up

recalling how much we used to see each other

even when drunk

especially when

there as chaos

naked and burping and promising to tomorrow

that there will be a better again

that requires no supposition

though the melting of morning comes

with a headache and this empty night

full of a cabinet of glasses unused

*

the art of art

is to not worry about the art

but to crumble you

until it sticks

hard and completely

to you

there

soft and incomplete

thinking of how

a crumble pie would

be better than any art

now