when the glass touches my lips I think here we go again
we are only our habits, which are the brunt of tendencies
which we siphon off our closest circles
like Canadian Club shooters from the back of the liquor cabinet
while the Peterson’s snooze upstairs
But a circle does not start or begin so this must be purgatory
bc I’ve got another chartreuse to sip
it’s thoughts like these that make me start
Jareb introduces me as Lawrence, he’s exhausting
i’m so sick of explaining myself my story was
written on my rock heart little lifetimes ago
from that bright white, that I’m not sure
but there’s gotta be something
I am so tired. This is something you learn to say a lot
same with please just listen, hear me out
hey, guess I’m still here aren’t I?
then when I really think about the difference
between there and here is just a letter.
here only lasts as far as here;
I can be here even if I’m not; in fact,
to be constantly here and constantly not here is
very much like me.
Maybe that’s why I’m so exhausted.
Whoops, here’s to us!
The gentian numbs my tongue
a murky burn all the way down my sachral chakra
lights up my power centers like ding ding ding!
waterboarding my soul until it’s forced to tell true