You notice when I tie my hands down,
keep them from floating untethered,
I rock in my seat,
chew on ideas,
hum because I’ve always wanted a theme song.
You say you like things single-spaced,
because then the words don’t seem
so formal, because then they swim
when you squint, and they look
like reality instead of well-regurgitated
clones. You say single-spaced
is more like the lives we lead.
I wish I was single-spaced.
I bought a metal cage
for the ferret I plan to buy.
The man suggested I pick
something more homey,
but the smell of the tiny
crossing bars reminds me
of the blood you left
on my kitchen floor
after you cut yourself cooking.
I bought the ferret.
His name is Goodbye.