august

the man on Fountain yells, 

as she cries. he walks off. 

i’m not scared of the strangers 

who light up on the rocks beneath the Lookout 

anymore. we're all here to smoke,

sit. watch— 

addicted to cars.

he leads me into the bedroom

colored projections on the ceiling, 

lies kept close to his chest,

as he slips inside.

i look up at the hockey match, 

the door frame. 

desk lamp. he collapses 

i tip-toe around white walls 

red LED lights. broken AC. 

sweaty, stick skinny.

bones like tree branches, 

i wish i could snap.

when my eyes adjust, 

i see my knees. 

colorblind. rough 

water, i scrub.

someone plays piano

in a dark room

and each person can sense

it is hollow.