03/04 by Daniel Allen

I SET the paper down on the table to think, but my head is ringing. The buzz of the air conditioner... was it yesterday that it broke? I can't remember. Maybe today. I look back to the paper, but my head's too full, so I chug some water. When I die, they'll say “at least he drank water.” I want to go camping. Tomorrow is the fifth, I know that much, but I can't stop the ringing in my head.
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I bottle the sweat snaking
down your bangs, inhale
the ether of your neck.

You will know too late
the millions I carry
sauteed in the summer
of my inseam.