sunday

when i just can’t bare anything any more, when everything is pressing into that space just behind/above the backs of my eyes and when my face is exhausted from being scoured with pollutants, when i can’t rly breathe properly because the state stuck a wrench in my chest and put a bounty on tightening it, i hunch down in a filthy wet gutter and read sam langer’s untitled book and let the quiet laser or quiet lightning or quiet white noise bolt through my pores.