Adam Henze,

April 3, Sunday

Haven’t had drink in two days. Not sure how to celebrate. Days have become dirty dress clothes in corner. They’re moldy dishes and pleading dogs with long toenails. Hours slipping by like falling blossoms. Can a poem help me clear beer cans from my desk? Can kigo cut through April rain? I try not to spend day describing last beer bottle in fridge. How it looks like swan with upturned neck, taking in lake that’s not yet drowned us.

gift of gab’s burden
I talk myself into it
almost every time