another tired night
of Chicago dreams,
waking up here and there,
disappointed at the reminder
of what bedroom this bed sits in.

I am floating
in a fleeting nowhere,
trying to get from here to health
and from there to nestled,
only I don't where there is,
but I wish I was a sweater
or apple cider vinegar.

and when the sun comes back,
sometimes I just wish I were talented.
sure, I write poetry on beverage napkins,
but that isn't talent by damn sight.

I am at a loss
for what to do,
and I am still drawn to you.