a week of waking up with lead in my bones adulthood cuts through the air i breathe in the sharp monotones of hourly water reminders. a baby spider wills fifty-six different muscles to traverse planes of a bathroom wall and challenges gravity along the way. the sunlight wins a game of tug-of-war against my eyelids and i wake up with a hungry mother's prayer on my lips. i am running out of breath and i want the world to stop spinning for a goddamn second. there is a theory that

This Town at every turn a fire burns in this town crackling with old newspapers, turning pink the palms of those huddled around it i drink in every sound, every two temples down the road a brawl breaks out among hungry kids for a piece of someone's glamorous charity, broken into pieces and scattered on the road as if for birds neon lights on old vegetable carts, hiding under their bling the darkness of the soul that pushes it around all day endlessly, like a local sisyphus i