is only the whir-click of
the ceiling fan loose on its screws and ready to drop
blades still spinning,and
I'm notso sure how sharp they are
so I press up against this
wall and write this poem
(which comes from a need
to breathe while cuddling/coddling my allies' insecurities)
harder than you'd think
actually
harder than your heart and
my bones
and every substance
combined
but as I said allies
because we're all hanging
by three fingers
and nobody's gonna catch
nobody else from this height
and I might just be the
only one who thinks that's fair tonight.
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