editing the kitchen
with today just outside
behind me,
a step beyond
the sliding glass door.
I fly
in typography,
through serifs,
over the ups of each line,
and down the slopes
of the sentence,
each by teach.
my heart beats,
and I have news for you,
as the coffee kicks in
and I regret the weed
that was left here
a lifetime ago.
I am cold,
kept in continuous
time travel water,
turned to snow
falling on high thighs
that look the horizon
if you lie.