Nights like this, the moon
Is scared of rising—
Crickets won't dance tonight.
Everywhere cars
Have trouble starting—the wind
Goes round and round
And can't find
A thing—

But nothing happens
Because everything does—
Rain, gin, worms,
Dogs, marigolds, film,
Sweat, rotation, kisses.
Apocalypse is boring.
Just watch me wail and slide.