i’m closer to the sky
atop the ferris wheel,
black tarmac scattered
with silver-capped
teeth lost in bar fights.
with a sloppy
tongue, i lick
each star & hold them
in my cheeks
like luminescent jawbreakers.
i bounce a quarter
into the milk jug’s throat.
i do not even look.
gravity does not ask
why the anvil is angry
with the bell. from here,
i make a best guess
at grief’s mass.
i am envious of anyone
who dies
before regret sets in.
i collapse
into the hollow
brevity of night.
i collapse into the urgent
generosity of tomorrow,
left alive again by luck.
