passing afternoon by iron and wine.
poison oak by bright eyes.
just those two.
over and over and over and
and then you come over and ask me about things.
and even though you don't really know what to say,
you mean well.
you say i'll land on my feet.
i want to believe it.
then i think about yesterday, and i worry that i ate too many fries
and not enough substance
and that i wish the salad i brought for lunch was chocolate
instead of boring
and a green bell pepper.
so i try to write these headlines.
concepts for one of my last assignments
and i listen,
"there are things that drift away, like our endless numbered days."
and i delight in the irony.