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.