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cummings residue lingers on the edges
of my desk and ferreira does the dance
called the know-it-all
while julia roberts plays chandler
like cutting chandeliers on and off,
sia pausing and skipping
because the cd is scratched.

that's 1000 forms of fear.

i am a pop art rap
poetry reference machine
as i sit in my underwear
writing this mindlessly,
wondering why i'm pondering
existential curves
while friends plays
(that is grammatically correct)
in the background
with things that happen at night
acting as my lonely life's
dual and obscure soundtrack.

obtuse is the word of the night
brought to you by i (one, myself, and i)
and the count sinks its
cartoonish teeth
where my birth mark sits.

interruption of this river
of awareness to let you know
my radiohead sees you
as the reckoner of what
was actually a pretty okay day.

i was swimming in rainbows
after the storm passed.

and i saw the thing
that you let the world know today
and i don't have a response for it,
so i thought i'd reference it instead.

i still love you.
but i must admit,
this home
may just become
a house once more,
obiter dictum.