The sky being slowly pulled forward
by a small child on a bicycle.
The air like the inside of a snow globe
after the water has evaporated.
The world contiguous with us.
These are capitalized times.
An ice cream truck
still playing its song in the rain:
the way love gets smaller
every time you feel it.
This moment having no reason not to exist,
so it does.
Poem with a Hole in the Middle
A Starbucks cup practiced its vowels
over the sidewalk.
The migration of things
and the mitigation of things.
One man threw
a lit cigarette on the sidewalk
and one following pinched it up
for one last inhale.
A child’s bike, spokes covered with tinfoil
to look like chrome rims.
I couldn’t tell which part was the revolution,
so I pretended to be more people.
I decided to stop seeing my savior.
I wrote a poem titled “Poem with a Hole in the Middle,”
and posted this on my list
of things that happened while I was alive.