The kind of awake that feels like exhaustion.

Sadness untended by tears.

The way the car engine doesn’t want to turn over,

so I’m always afraid I don’t get to leave.

She said, “yeah I fucked her but I always pull out.”

Said, “I go to Dreams with a suitcase.”

Wondered, “Has a side jawn ever opened you up?”

So I was always quoting her.

It’s the concrete weight of the place,

the overwhelming absurd guilt of it,

the hyper resilient laughter and love within it,

that demands more layers of meaning

than we’re taught to.

Like how I pretend I’m alone

when I don’t want to be alone.

How the days are shorter now,

and one good night

doesn’t promise another.

She reasoned, “Trust ourselves? That’s how we got here.”

Or how, every time I drive away,

I see the business sign offering

Confined Space Rescue

and wonder how many people call.

They’re just a few blocks from the jails,

an interpretation away from religion.