Parking lot lights, high sodium in the dark
night. I don’t know what I want but I’ll keep
drinking. This song isn’t the mood for this poem
but I’ll keep it on. I have only known two Sag-
ittarians, is that called light pollution?
I’m laying in the grass right after the sprinklers
turned off, the grass next to the harbor. One texted
“I’m gonna suck yr dick im gonna suck yr dick im gon-
na suck yr dick yr dick—“ I didn’t know what I wanted.
Some moons I write tight little poem that don’t say
anything but sound the way I feel. Today I’ll say
my body doesn’t belong to you even if I let it.
I’m going to lay on my back. The green in my shoulders
and the evenly planted trees reach crookedly. Poems
don’t tell you I was drinking when I wrote them but I am
saying it now. I can see the clouds grey even though it’s
much too late. The other messaged me on Instagram
“I’d wanna give you head af” and I know to tell
them I’m not interested. The inlet was dredged, the lawn
cuts off suddenly. I don’t care. I can see some of the stars.