i get high
write shitty poetry
by myself
under the moon
a cloud of startear smears
across the screen
in the steady tapping
to the emptiness
that fills me
in its own
impossibility

i get drunk
compose simple sonnets
to you
as the room
spins a vertiginous whirlpool
through my brain
as i weave
the subsonics of heartbled
longings
that shudder through
my centrifugal desire