I’m so mad at you that I’m writing a Russian novel about the way you blew me off

She was my friend when you weren’t
not only did she say I could visit her
but that I could stay for months

you didn’t even say
it’d be nice to see you, but
so now you are the downtrodden character
in my novel, who will eventually die
all alone in the Siberian forest
from frostbite, maybe, I haven’t decided yet

but the important part is the phone in your hand
which will be bagged for evidence
by the local police department who will contact me
because after all these years
I was the person you ended up texting
at the end of your life, you will think of me

and I will say, sorry
I don’t understand Russian
What is this, some sort of a scam
no, I don’t want your prince’s money
in a lump sum and I wont give you my information
and I will hang up on them even though they said your name
it will have been too heavily accented
and too far lost by then for me to comprehend


Drinking to Bermuda

so i can’t eat solids anymore
and the wind is blowing into my coffee, which i spill
into the pristine snow
soaking right through my leather boots
into my calves, my hands are blue
on the way from getting bottled smoothies
and coconut water, apple juice
i think the blanketed floor is glittering
like a 90s disco fleece but im not sure
exactly what im seeing, i close my eyes
against the blistering frostbite
so the snow cant melt into my vision
maybe im just about to ….
…lose consciousness and fall into it
but i am not about to lose
my nutrients for the next week
because i am counting days,
it’s seven now
seven days until Bermuda
and i swear to god
ill be healthy for it