Outside is a wet cigarette. Last night
is half ash, half scrambled porn.
I put what where? There’s a dead rat
in my mouth, its tail skewering the gap
near my gums. Teeth fuzzy,
fermented, near-victims of a flood
hauled up sputtering and water-logged.
The morning drags itself
across yesterday’s obituaries clutching regret
in its teeth. The stock market is one thing,
an op-ed on abolishing the penny another.
There’s a recession lurking somewhere. I’m out
of Advil. I can’t think of what to give up first.