Classmate's apartment:
a pair of factories pollute the plush brown couch,
Josh grinds knuckles into powdered lines
periodically checks his cell phone,
and we shift and sip water,
watch the endless days of a dusty fan.
phone buzzes angrily I struggle to contain
its raw energy like it's escaping a locked window,
peel open a newly-formed honeycomb:
It's Mel: "Sorry bro cant make it tonight "
Everyone looks over my shoulders
the words hang between us like chunky dust
watches Josh question a bruised mirror
hooked to the thin pink wall,
crushed pills scraped across its soft,
face Josh punches it falls, the pieces sparking
stoops to stroke and drink the mirror's still-fresh nectar.
He turns to me, mad crazy
and everything else feels muffled
like I'm waiting for someone to answer their phone
until reality hums like a hive, the bee quivers
about a boy across town who has the best shit around
and we run out and emotionless sobs from the sky
drench our backs, slow us down.
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