It's early, it was sixteen minutes earlier when I wanted to write
I have been up since even more before that
I have smoke coming out my ears
I have nothing in my throat.
I am not a good friend
to anybody
I go to bed before it's dark
& it won't be light for hours
I don't know how I feel about caffeine
and I'm halfasleep
with a project in mind
that could be dismissed as art-therapy for teens in distress
or it could be adulated
for its tenderness & honesty
and maybe it will be up on the walls
or sent on a plane to another country
between two mountain ranges
where I can burn it all up
