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I thought about moving into your old apartment not to relive

memories but to bury them underneath a deep layer of banality.

I thought my apathy could drown out all recollection.


Any poem I would have denied being about you is now about you.

If the vague pain in the left side of my collarbone could only

intensify until it twisted me up and over so that I could disappear

into it on September 28, 2015

I would possibly be happy. If Facebook didn’t have to spite me

by putting your post about feeling blissful at the top of my feed,

if I didn’t have to subconsciously think about the future as

something certain but not yet fulfilled, I could possibly be happy.


Possibly compatibilism is the case, and this is reassuring because

my lease is not up until February and it has only just begun to cool.

Nothing will be drowned because the water stays just below the

chin and soon it will freeze.


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