That’s not an alarm.
That’s a phone.
I should be there.
Now.

Violent butterflies
Only thrash harder
When I’m here
And they aren’t.

Finally!
One mass pickup.
We hope Dolly
Won’t take out the mirrors.

He’s faking faking suicide
Grip love for the contraption
I don’t feel this looks real
But I only care how it sounds

I finish reading
Begin writing
He’s editing
We’re too creative for this job

Meatballs
Naptime
Don’t touch the noose
He’ll use it on her later

My ears are clogged
With noise
And he decides which ones
It will never be soft enough

At last!
Wrapped and in a box
If he has the same shirt on
They had too much fun

I go all that way
In the dark
All alone
Just to eat

I must be desperate
Or stupid
Or both
But I laugh in the face of danger

But now it’s time for bed
Because I’m going back tomorrow