your family sits atop a graveyard
I recall my Catholic upbringing
its subsequent tumble through adulthood
wringed out through cigarette smoke

the last time I felt like a pothole was
the gym last week the oceans of muscles
lapped with saltwater oozing out of bodies
or maybe at work I am new always

on the purple carpets asking
every authority how to be zen
page ends with staples scattered
beside the fluorescent printer

with your family I guzzle and mix each type of
sparkling glass and dark concoction offered until
my quiet disappears and my rambling becomes
a kind of buzzing within the hive of the room

(originally published in 24hr Neon Mag, Winter 2019)