it's a growing list of things
we maybe shouldn't do together
a mattress made of cactus:
makes me toss and turn
beats me midslumber.
when the list first began,
called "Everything."
drawing crooked lines
through old movie titles
writing spiky paths with our
footprints up mountains.
but between the shouldn'ts
and the dones, the thorns
that keep me awake are the
what-to-do-nexts and that they might
run out.
the wick burns short in both directions
and these metaphors are only
burning and bleeding us. i'll
drink to that, i'll sleep to that.
maybe you'll sleep easier then, too.
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