Headspace

dig me an apartment way underground

so I can feel the dirt around me

& stretch my limbs past

ninety degree angles

I can finally quit smoking

even if it takes the fire

from under me

hang pictures of outer space

on the glossy black walls

and write some poems

bout the mice

who feel the need

to live off what I don't

I am tired of the sun

telling me I'm yellow

and running my own groceries

just to wait

in a line that does not move -

it gets replaced

with the next patron

who feels such satisfaction

for securing

a primal need

but look at the whole picture

& they're more a mob

pushing for a center

so trafficked

   (there is room but nowhere to go)

& when you're done

I am never leaving this place

even when I really leave

it will be like I never did

that's the only reason they know my name