I am tired of being mono.
This tired again and again
and the slow low buzz of
an outgoing call
that never made it to the
It’s called the kissing disease
but that was back in college
when drinks were free
and crushed glass stomach
Now I’m all starting to fade at 9 in the evening,
same bed, same sun shining through same caged window,
same bicycle ride to same job different day,
and that’s when I’m healthy as a lark.
I’m tired of sickness coming back
like I’ve run around chasing love
instead of filling out
graduate school applications.
Days are longer.
Sweeter, like honey stretched
over brown bread in the sunlight.
Nights are darker, less familiar,
more like the mystery
God floats in.
I’m tired of feeling bruised
on the inside.
I want to sleep on the plane
and wake up in one place.
I’m tired of being leaving
and not knowing how things end
even though I’d always rather
I keep drinking coffee like
it won’t make me sicker.
It’s hard to keep my eyes open
for an hour.
Every conversation is a response
to how I’m feeling the moment I say
My heart is my body is my sickness,
I wish that it wasn’t but so.
I pray softly and loudly and tiredly.
If I’ve done something wrong, please forgive me,
but I know that just isn’t how it works.
It’s not that I’m angry,
And my heart is my body
is my sleep.