i just got out of work, haven't had a sip of coffee in weeks but have got the coffee shakes. i'm not sure if my body is saying 'HEY you're at BNG you might as well get a coffee, but then i'll really never go to sleep. i came to portsmouth so i could use my computer and not be scrutinized and to let d sleep. also i'm in a weird mood and i believe if i ended up at home i woul have started some type of bullshit fight. so here i am being that girl at the coffee shop at 730 in the morning, no coffee no nothing. getting a bagel and maybe some juice.

"maybe my limbs are made
mostly for decoration,
like the way I feel about
persimmons. you can't
really eat them. or you
wouldn't want to. if you grab
the soft skin with your fist
it somehow feels funny,
like you've been here
before and uncomfortable,
too, like you'd rather
squish it between your teeth
impatiently, before spitting
the soft parts back up
to linger on the tongue like
burnt sugar or guilt.
for starters, it was all
an accident, you cut
the right branch
and a sort of light
woke up underneath,
and the inedible fruit
grew dark and needy.
think crucial hanging.
think crayon orange.
there is one low, leaning
heart-shaped globe left
and dearest, can you
tell, I am trying
to love you less."