I drink my dinner
I inhale my midnight snack
I stumble through Brooklyn
Singing to myself
Hop on the express train instead of the local
Watch my destination whiz past
Find receipts from cabs I can’t recall riding in
Have phone conversations,
are they real or imagined?
I wake wondering what has happened,
comings and goings blurred,
timelines collapsed,
running in quicksand
Waiting to be enveloped by its coarse hands,
ready and waiting.