seven : twenty-eight

i get confused in the morning
swagger from the bed's tower
for some reason not falling off
some call it God's providence

try to put on pants
can't remember if the drawstring goes in front or back
have to pee so bad i can't stand up straight

push sleep once too many
7:45 doesn't understand
have to put on a face before i can go to class

discovered that the ugly travel mug
with a chunk missing from the lid
holds slightly more coffee than the shiny green one
maybe a metaphor

willing hair to pretend it's seen shower this week
avoiding reflections
bigger, duller than i'd like

bye, room.
see you in seventeen hours.