Hi. I am not dead as of yet
I don’t think.
I feel as if I still have bus passes to validate.
Cold streets to walk down in Denver
they say that walking around Wash Park is as hazardous to your health
as a pack of cigarettes
I haven’t researched it really
but it’s believable
as in it’s probably true
as in the park is trying to kill me
as in I really gotta take a minute to vote
and I should really take some time to doll myself up a bit.
Do you think that
when you die
there’s a stat sheet?
How many hours of my life did I spend on social media?
Who was the king or queen actor of your porn history?
Let’s take a look at your Google searches.
Could you please pay your Englewood Library late fees before you go?
I got drunk once and pissed on the side of Buffalo Exchange.
To be honest it was exhilarating.
It felt like a statement but I’m not sure it was as simple as me defaming
Buffalo Exchange or claiming it as my own
though the double-edged sword there is certainly very interesting.
Halloween feels like getting drunk on Satan to get through Christmas.
Thanksgiving feels like impatience to get to Christmas so we eat.
All of these holidays feel like clever ways to fight seasonal depression.
All of the seasonal depression maybe is a necessary decompression.
A body in motion stays in motion
so when in constant motion
there is a necessity for a body
to somehow adapt and find ways
I’m falling in love with someone every week.
I’m letting go of someone every week.
I want hot cocoa but not the calories.
I think I just want someone to read my poems once I am dead.