The morning knocks lowkey
Astonishing as a dog’s
Inside-out ear. The dog rattles
Awake like a spoon in that cup
You used to use. You’re not in this one,
Or the next. Missing us is just a smoke
Alarm begging for batteries. What’s left
But the last time’s last time, turning it in
My hands like a soap. Is this merely
Practice is what the faucet always asks
Of us. Love, what this kitchen needs is more
Congratulations. This kitchen needs someone
To zip up its dress. What’s left but all
This wrecked sheet cake. Is it already time
To send ourselves flowers? Is it by measure
Better than nothing? The paperwhites
Shallowly clearing their throats
From the sill. Everything electronic
Is also a clock, unfortunately. The dog
Factchecks / it’s evening. The power
Lines continue to connect us
To our twentieth-century selves.
Moon, you are doing so well
Up there. Every day we disappoint
You. Every night, we eat
Our floorboard hearts out.
