You Can’t Afford to be This Quiet
Honey and lemon
flow across my tongue
a hot toddy with a thick body
thicker, at least, than the rain
that swept into my mouth
earlier this evening
under the metal
doorway of an apartment building
whose walls you could eat off of.
This, when the sky was lighter
(And the violence too, at least I like to think)
Everything lighter with tea
and whiskey,
silence and space.
You can’t afford to be this quiet.
No really, you can’t afford it.
The rent is ridiculous.
