That Summer, I was throwing up in bathroom stalls.
I had nightmares that girls were too tall.
My mother had a vast assortment of knives.
A man with one leg wheeled himself down the street.
Leaves looked like dry little mouths.
I feel like a man of seventy
I sit in my chair, and listen to the storm
I could be a lost star, a satellite drifting out of orbit
Now I will close my eyes, and not remember anymore