snug inside the anaconda
things begin to recycle
the relationship does this
that job opportunity does that
I know
where it’s all going
and I sit
staring at the ceiling just not caring
not caring that the relationship is ending
not caring that the job opportunity is slipping like water through sand
staring at the ceiling like I’m a wart,
and just not caring that the neighbor kids are screaming
not caring that my teeth hurt like a motherfucker
then I put the pen down
and forget the poem
and it’s over
just like the first five million times
