Things getting smaller at sunset—
                                                                                                                      But what are things?
It always happens that way.
                                                                           Things are objects that don’t have names.


My face is dripping
                                                                                                                                 Things are real.
It’s a sad time.
                                                                                                                   Life is real, sometimes.
This time.
                                                                                                      It’s enough to make you cry.
                                                                                                                          And smash things.
But why?
                                                                                                       To have pieces to pick up . . .
                                                                                                       Oh, any number of reasons.
You go haywire.
                                                                                        Nothing matters when you’re mad.
At things.
                                                                                                                                            At sunset.


Previously unpublished.