I have lived in cold apartments, it did not bother me.

I have fallen asleep at wheels and falsified documents,

 

testimonies, it did not bother me. I have been the lost

player, bewildered of key and time signature, helpless, it

 

did not bother me. I have made direct eye contact with

the helpless, I did not help them, it did not bother them.

 

I have studied the rainbow’s underbelly by the light

of a giddy flame, it did not bother me. I have mopped

 

ceilings in exchange for infinite hardboiled eggs, a bed,

unhinged afternoons, it did not bother me. I have had

 

my most immanent words pickpocketed at the end

of a blue hallway, and no, none of it bothers me:

 

the order I suspect at the heart of entropy, the fury

we keep to ourselves as though a secret,

 

and the wishes holding their tongues

in perpetuity, in memoriam,

 

it does not bother me.