you know that feeling you get
when you're not quite depressed
somewhere not fully stressed
before the black crows and before the rainbows
appetite's shot and the coffee's too hot
nothing seems to be a prefect fit
and the mirror distorts every day with it's
habitual lies and moaning
stomach groaning
from sugar rush and digested mush
those who have and have not
push you
you just might take a pot
at infinity.
You know that hunger that comes
when you hang by your thumbs
all cymbals and drums
all sticks and bones
everybody else face down in their phones
face full of fruit and fly by the seat
of your pants like some bitch on heat
you consider your options
you toy with concoctions
and memory plays tricks
like a slowed down eater
who is and who is not
open to taking a pot
at infinity.
