no one is awake.
a half open case of muffins on the table,
a bowl of berries.
the trip has been very memorable.
the weather has been indecisive.
i am hardly able to drink this hot coffee.
i should know better.
i should not stray.
the woman in the other room in sacramento is beautiful.
she has crazy hair and frantic eyes
and thinks about death a lot.
her legs are strong and her lungs unhealthy,
her chest bound to the bed
where i love to sleep in.
it's tour and strange how we are sleeping in.
strange how late we stay up
strange how distance is like a shield.
where the sky misbehaves and you sit on the curb of
some street you've never been on
and hum and hum and hum
about everything you've done wrong.
but yet, you smile in the morning
because sleep somehow erases
mistakes.
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