Midnight
Midnight is like a square.
A square patch of grass at midnight.
Folds over.
Hurts like spirals.
Midnight churning and tapping.
Weirdness.
There’s such a thing as too many midnight moons.
I have double vision.
Midnight eating away at the feel-good chatter.
Spiraling like curtains.
Opening and closing.
Midnight.
Midnight is like lettuce being chopped up.
Midnight is like a tunnel.
Midnight is like nothing you’ve ever seen.
Because it’s dark.
Because it’s dark.
Like a patch of grass at midnight.
Because it’s dark.
So it is.
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