Day five.

I am five days late and a dollar short.
I am five days late into an exercise,
a blooming of the brain that will not cease,
Late into the looming overlap of a year that took, in succession-
beautiful love, beginner’s tennis, the boasts from my mouth,
the purrs,
oh god, the purring.
There’s an animal on the other side of the door, and he knows when I’m using
that voice
He knows when I don’t give a shit and he cries all the same.
I am a dollar short; I am short; I shorted,
I snorted my way to the bank and I survived,
I am one month, ten days, and an hour, give or take,
into a tenure enforced by my own self-care, into a purgatory where I imagine
only the smallest things- driving up 290,
driving it in,
coffee-coffee stained mugs, light on beams.
The purrs.
Oh, the purrs.

-C.

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