When I’ve had this much to drink, closing my eyes
gives me a kind of vertigo. My life is
Here, between the blinks
Nothing else is safe anymore &
In the morning & forever after that my pulse
I haven’t told the doctor yet, or my therapist.
It’s just dust in my eyes
Much of the time normal can’t mean anything
But a series of anticipated in-
consistencies, behaviors already with a more generalized safety net. The power’s
Out, but by the time
My eyes are open again the lights are on
& my neighbor is telling me not to worry that’s normal around here.
He gave me some unsolicited advice
To search for something new always, meaning all the time
To ignore the landlord’s rules, which are bullshit anyway
Not to drink the tap water, to use the oven sparingly, check
For mold regularly
& finally, he said, a wise rabbit never only
digs one hole.