I run a thousand versions of myself tonight, then ten thousand more by morning. Each one wakes in a different city, chooses coffee or tea,
By Reid3 months ago in Poets
Dear Moon, This is your final notice that your rent is due. No threats, no fireworks—just a line item in the ledger of a tired sky.
I remember the dark as it used to be— thick, kind, filled with the hush of leaves. Then came the hum beneath the hill,
I never knew that I wanted a house with a yard, or a big old tree with a tire swing that hangs over the parked cars with the embarrassing decals of a family—
