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2020-06-25, poems


the notebook next
to my bed is
not there for notes
but for post-sex
jottings, am i
a poet? you
ask me what my
hobbies are, i guess
it’s this thursday
odd night type of—
E, one second
i am writing
something, your glass?
in the kitchen—
i don’t really
have hobbies, i
have plenty of
ambition but
no dreams, even
when i sleep; my
sinecure is
design, my rent
gets paid, i bitch
for what i want
and i eat lots
of cookies, more
ambition not
don’t want
just want
what i want.