it won’t be anything you say, or your off brand jeans,
this place is a certain kind of killer and,
intentions not withstanding, you look like chum.

your slick hay colt legs will not avoid
carefully placed stones of unimaginable consequence,
and there will be no way to predict

which balloons start brush fires, or
what doors the loose keys in your apartment
have sacrificed
without consulting you.

if i were you i’d revisit
everything you’ve ever done
each night, between the hours of 2 and 4
while he sleeps beside you.

accept the dark side inimical to your house of learning,
adopt a posture that feels comfortable
crouched beneath a table, breath inflating a paper bag.