Untitled One

I am writing to you from the stomach of a

whale where I am swallowed but still alive.

I am sleeping in shifts so that I don't

miss a shot at redemption.

I am writing down my dreams dutifully

but in the morning they make little-to-no sense.

I am sending postcards to the cemetery

with your plot number written down.

I am hoping the office will tape them

to your headstone.

This record is really just forty-four minutes of rain

falling on the roof of a parked car.

This record is really just me looking up synonyms

for dying over and over and over.