the sun rose in spite of everything
it knocked so I woke, it mocked so I broke
we’d once wagered life on an endless dream
that knocked you back a beat, a cell phone ring
it seems prophetic in the wake of
some simple curses, but I made them all up
my hexing hand was just childhood rage
a teeming temper bleeding through the page
right to the other side
rust orange walls in the apartment
we smoke with windows shut to keep some precedent
and those boxes packed almost ten years in
are the violent past that I’ve inherited