And then it’s January, and nothing can bloom
or bloom toward coherence
I smoke before bed most nights
Trickle gently into oblivion
Have wild, anxious dreams
And wake to digital noise still exhausted.

Last month in Vermont, I woke in the deep night
to the aroma of perfect food, something sweet and savory and
cozy like a night in someone else’s arms
But I was too exhausted to follow it, saved from fairyland oblivion
by a few inches of heaviness

There are days you climb like drainpipes,
Days when you just hold on and wait for it to pass like grey weather
Days you swim through
Days you will never get back, but it’s enough just to make it to the other end
And start again

[Art: Anna Pan]

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