As Designed

No matter what I do,

there is always more

laundry accumulated faster than I

can tame it. More

mental health

baseline/trigger/crisis to navigate

before overcoming the last. More

ass-in-chair, eyes-on-screen,

monotony clicking under fluorescents, melancholic

mind-numbing, per my last email

back and forth. More

like a hound chasing its tail—one

track mind, dog

eat dog, no way

out—

than a Leo sun millennial doing their most

to plan a future

without reading too far into it. More

murder fueling protests fueling headlines fueling marches

fueling news anchor bludgeoning

dead horse, more

jurries corrupt no broken no

the system works as designed. More

Brocks and Kyles going home

for coddling, all too forgiving bloodline, more

dispensaries opening in their neighborhood, all

shiny and green and foundations bloodsoaked

where plug is pronounced brand ambassador

while the plug stays confined, stays

voteless, stays checking off that box so they stay

jobless, another stay inside because the law

can’t keep foods feeding and lights

shining and mandatory minimums and

three strikes and the system works precisely

as designed. More

mason jars and metal straws to wash, more

footprint conscience meals to cook, more

marginal blood to shed, more

life to gut, labor to squeeze, more

sun and sea and heat coming

than we know what to do with

or could bother to do anything about at all—

seven years, seven seas, no more

breath left, just simple

drown.