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i think i broke
some bones in my sleep.

i remember waking up
and saying i will do it in the morning.

my floor is littered with broken things
i meant to fix. there is a mosquito
in here growing fat on the things
i have intended to change.
the radio whose battery light is flashing
a slow sos at the darkening ceiling.
the piles of old letters stacked like snow.

the people who told me
they were lawyers and insurance
brokers in the elevator
one time at two in
the morning with the stench
of death on their breath.
the day my body stopped
healing.