do your feet freeze too?
do you wrap them in sweaters
when you don’t have socks?

i used to write those
unicorn stories where they
were magic and fast.

must get a job, must
get a job i like, must get
a job that pays me. 

my living room in
shambles but it’s a bedroom
anyway. oh well. 

so much wildlife
in my bedroom, yet nothing
ever moves.

some dude stole from my
level seven warehouse! it’s
getting real now. 

clothespin people watch
from my closet door; the pur-
-ple one always falls. 

the dog next door barks,
as if it read what i typed.
can it read this too? 

emails about mitt
romney and his rooftop dog;
emails never stop. 

now it is opera—
i wish the windows would break
as a subtle hint.