About Time

We Are Sitting in the Car after Leaving the Dog Park and Zoey, My Dog, Tells Me She Loves Me

I’m trying to do what my therapist recommended

and just sit in silence. The car isn’t

running, the stereo isn’t yelling

at me, nothing is happening at all

and sure, it’s Saint Paul, Minnesota, where

shootings happen but not in whatever

neighborhood one happens to be in,

and it’s just gotten dark and no one

on this or any adjacent street has started

their cars in like a month, quarantine

you know, and I’m trying to sit in abject

silence for like three fucking minutes

but the ringing in my ears has become

a bell and then a conspiracy of bells

and then whatever sound comes thirty seconds after

a pipe bomb and my brain is shouting

over the top of it I am going to kill myself

I am going to kill myself and I, me, not

the voice which sounds like me but isn’t me,

I try to think of what my therapist, whose name

is Erin, Erin, I remind myself, told me:

acknowledge the thoughts but don’t

attach to them; pay attention to your hands

and what around you they can touch; notice

your breathing, I know it’s corny but do it,

notice the way your shirt touches

somewhere new as your breath

moves you; ask the thoughts what

they want: why am I going to

kill myself and if I do, go all the way

to the logical end: who will it hurt,

what gets left behind, what good remains

undone; dissect the bells, separate

the ringing into a flat expanse

and not the towering blaze it’s telling you

it is, what does each bell sound like

and who carried them there and when

will they be called away—notice

your hands your fucking hands—

which is when Zoey, my dog, who I love,

who came to us six months ago

from a house that tried and failed

to love her, licks my ear. She’s right,

we’ve been sitting here too long. I start

the car and let it warm up for a minute

because it looks like it might snow.

Stop Me

Stop me if you’ve heard this one: a guy

walks into a bar and says Take my wife, please,

she deserves to be happy. A guy walks

into a bar and asks for a sandwich. The bartender

says We don’t serve food here. The guy says

Then I stole someone’s sandwich

last time I was here. Stop me

if you’ve heard this one: a guy

walks into a bar for the fifth time

this week and it’s Thursday. A guy

walks into a bar, is greeted by the bartender

and two regulars, and he does not

turn around. A guy walks into

a bar because outside it’s a whole bunch

of stuff that’s not the bar

and inside it’s just the bar. A guy

walks into his living room because

all the bars are closed. A guy reaches

all the way back in the liquor cabinet

because he wouldn’t appreciate

the good stuff right now. Stop me

if you’ve heard this one. A guy walks

into a bar and keeps walking. A guy

puts a twenty into the juke box even though

no one asked him to. A guy is dancing

alone even though the bar is not empty.

A guy gets on a train but the train

has a bar. A guy goes for a walk

by the train tracks but someone clearly

last night turned that into a bar. A guy

walks into the bar with a joint and says

Hey what kind of joint is this. A guy lights

a joint but he’s outside the bar, by

himself and the dumpster. A guy writes

on the dumpster Help please.

A guy is always seeking aid

in ways that can be mistaken

for a good time. A guy is handshakes

with no eye contact. Fireworks

at 3 PM. Snow angels before

the blizzard ends. A guy walks

into a bar and for the first time this week

for like thirty minutes he feels good

about himself. It’s Thursday.

First Impressions Practice

Hi hello my name is Neil and I hope

you like poems about poems about mommy

issues and slowly losing your mind,

because I was raised wrong and I am very

crazy. I’m like if Caligula had no power

and a credit card spending limit. I’m Captain

Ahab without all the chill vibes. I’m the fly

that can’t remember the way it got in

your house, which is to say that I am

constantly smashing myself into everything

that looks like a way out, which is

to say that the first thing I do in any room

is figure out how to leave, which is to

say hi hello, I’m so honored you invited

me to your party, I’m sorry I can’t stay.

NO PART

Everything I ever asked for, I received. Advantages

and punishments. Shots and bars. Songs

inside the fog inside the world. Take it

from me, it’s possible to ask for the wrong

things. I said I wanted crazy love and I got

it. I asked for an accurate mirror and pain

is what I received. I thought that it would

be interesting to be sad and you know

what, I was right. Sadness drifted

into the apartment and made sure

we’d always remember its visit. Blue hair

in every drain. New butt prints in the couch,

its name carved into all the food in the fridge.

I am a long drive to a closed restaurant. I’m a mistake

everyone has to pretend was intentional.

I’m a fist full of electricity: some nights

I walk in the house and all the lightbulbs explode.

When I say that loving me is like a brick wall falling on your car in the parking lot of your own damn apartment complex

after Hanif Abdurraqib

what I mean is that you know you shouldn’t have parked there; the wall has