this glass a demon in my bowels
ringing out what's left of my watery soul
eternal dehydration;
last night I carried nibs through
apartment elevators,
like dorm at Rutgers,
cold old unadorned,
headed to concierge,
"my door won't open,"
thick brown water, still,
impenetrable to eyes,
sat at waist level,
there was no one at
front desk, I noticed too late
nibs was no longer under my arm,
bobbing in the water beside me
head down legs down,
coated in the brown unguent
I pawed at him
memory becomes thin
see-thru
he was then in my arms
wet chewing gray
"door might be open when we get back,"
I mused as floor rose to ceiling
rose to roof rose to room,
waters carrying us up.
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