Quarter Life Crisis

Some days

The distance between here and the pen is miles wide

Nautical miles, that is

Not just because they’re mathematically a little bit longer

But also because the floor becomes the sea

And as the waves rally

Pummeling lamps and bedposts and sometimes me

With salt on my lips and shattered crab claws stuck to my toes 

Glistening like an ornament’s shards in a dustpan

After an orb falls from the tree

I swim the extra tenth of a mile