1887 c/o Jakob Maier

I don’t want to get spiritual until
after I’m dead. I eat a plum
because why not. There’s so much
to do in the now-life. I only talk
to ghosts to tell them to let it go.
Really, like when I’m wearing
underwear & they bother me,
it’s time to go home. We pack
our bags years in advance
then leave them on the living
room floor like sleeping dogs.
We want to board a plane so fast
it follows the golden dawn forever.
But 4:05 on a Sunday afternoon
is the happiest time, & shortest.
Making popcorn together is ritual
enough. I want to talk to you,
only you, & sleep well after.