the last time i saw that man he shared with me his cocaine and fish

used to be we ran
a lot of things off
of steam.

we didn’t run out
of steam, but
we did find better,

or at least
more profitable,

ways to generate
our motion.
our motion,

so that we can feel
some sense of progress.

and progress, so
that we can feel
ourselves to
exist.

used to be we found
ourselves to matter

by using steam.

we haven’t run out
of steam, though
doesn’t it now seem
antiquated?

the mornings are now

cool.

if i drink something

hot,

i can see my every
breath
escape.

the windows,
steamed
with persistence.

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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