Sunday afternoon on the kitchen floor
beyond comatose, zombie-fried
a barely-kicking being
it's been a very long, cold week
listening to Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
singing about Hannah Montana,
Miley Cyrus, and the Higgs-Boson
Nick is such a shameless name-dropper
the floor is colder than my body
means that I'm still alive, right?
a friend sends me a text…
"In Touch Magazine says:
Kim Kardashian butt
won't stop growing."
I think, "yes, that is a problem…"
I text back: "Yikes! Look out Kanye!
Butt-Crack!"
That ends the conversation.
The refrigerator wobbles and sort of titters,
it's always got something to say.
Time clicks along.
Nick's voice
wraps around me
like a dark cloak.