but saturday night i wanted to offend god
into listening to just one line- needed to drag someone
into hearing the roar between my ears with me.
i'd like to write something you can put music to-
lyrical and pretty. funny. maybe irreverent.
but today what is most real to me
is not laughter. it is feeling short of breath.
empty of poetic language. unfunny. too long
for a limerick. unsuited to sonnets. musical only
in the slamming of my heart. an erratic beat
at best. endings. comparing crises of the mind
to someone throwing up in the bathroom
after too much beer pong and hard rock-
both are shameful to repeat in therapy
and i feel like i cannot stop ruining parties.
needing steady hands for these atlas shoulders
that will not relax. staircases white like
imagined hospitals. thinking i should say
call me an ambulance. crying. not calling
an ambulance. not calling a taxi, i can't call
a taxi, i don't have money for a taxi, holding
my breath. 4, 7, 4. 4, 7, 4. in.