I had a summer to sleep, feverish hibernation, Ambien, mint cigarettes rolled in encyclopedia leaves, God didn’t want me to love Him, the sunflowers leaned in worship, radiation unreeled in waves, the radiator glowed, glared, leaked, in the window’s warped jaws, its liquid song incessant, milling antifreeze on sod, the merging lawn, its non-luminous veil of glyphosate, I loved it, I didn’t choose to love it, I studied its cities of poisoned ants, their migration to a motherboard’s disc of heat, I watched hours of footage staring into the deep sea, live streams, captured light, schools of fish, nothingness, my eyes became a cloud of original doom, my dream was a circle, moths ate it, the yellow room painted a Dostoevsky yellow, sick in the head and you cannot escape it, I had no mother but myself, the wandering at the bus stop, my friend Mary, the patron saint of Mercury in retrograde, shattering crystals, short-circuiting burner phones, her paranoia knit a glittering web of sequence, we sat on a bench, iron wrought to spell WELCOME, I welcomed the sun, its dust, its summer, it tried my devotion, dissolved me in gelatin, the strip mall in all of us, Fleshlight Emporium, I did it to myself, blew through a kazoo, breath trapped in thermoplastic, thin, massive, it came from myself, every ideogram spilling from the hollow vowel of my mouth, a howl, no way to end this, an aroo at the tidal locked moon.