Again I failed to intoxicate my feet
or disprove my neurosis, but i did
manage to warm my body under
a faucet in one of the keg suites, we
both did actually, and talked about
how neither of us had dressed for this

and then for the rest of the night
i felt like i was leaving something
in the rooms i left, my gloves, though
i didn’t come here with any, my
other hands that would skitter off
if i left them unchained to my wrists

what’s more, i hate these pretty places
where i am one of three poets, where
the other two are out on the roof painting
signal lights on their faces. they are
arresting purples, their words are sharp
like the color of insects and i must have met every person

here: my name is britt, we met in the water
before and i forgot to take you with me. i am not
the type to hang from ledges. i will instead kick rocks
with you from far away, write down every word
of the oldest things as they fall