49/365

even the thoughts that are slow
and slimy like salamanders on
a wet road,
feel heavy and hectic
when they slither and squirm
as one massive entity
writhing through this writing
like a ball of slugs.

when i close my eyes
and breathe:
i want to see fleeting clouds,
untethered kites,
balloons adrift,
or propellent pollen
afloat, like dancing dust
on a cornea.

but the weightlessness
is anchored by
politicians flying to the beach
as their poorest constituents
freeze and starve to death.

hatred is a slow heavy
constrictor desolving
everything caught in its throat.

every comment section
teeming with trolls,
useless opinions:
ubiquitous
unrelenting
useless.

i didn’t want to feel joy
that he is dead,
but the world feels
a bit lighter
that he is gone.

down here
in the muck,
we applaud
every tiny release.