A Poem a Day Keeps the Zoloft Away

I look up and the ceiling

disappears

and I’m floating into clouded

Boulevards.

Then I look back to where it

was

that I had been

seeing plush cushions gaudily colored and dimly lit

with half-drank drinks and a dozen people I

don’t know but share

the same space

with,

and talking to each other

would be strange

but sitting silently with

bottle rocket thoughts and

lighters on our tongues

is for some reason

for the best.

#348