when this ship sinks they’ll call you a rat

my speakers buzz with the sext messages
passing through my apartment
from one masturbating neighbor to another
i lean against the floor for support
because the world’s turned on its ear
looking out the window
its raining dismembered left feet
but the other shoe hasn’t dropped
there’s a cold front moving south
its supposed to snow tonight
i don’t care enough to turn on the heater
i can still hear the sound of your heels
that you wore with nothing else
on the hardwood floor
if i press my ear against it
the echoes sustain themselves
in this high-rise structure
a monument to those heels
built to scrape the sky
while you screamed and howled
on your back
in my bed
obscenities echoed in the alleyways
you were quite the diva
there is no monument to that voice
no tribute
no reminder like the faint clicking echoes i hear
with my ear against the floor
groping all that’s left of you.

(originally published in The Gap-toothed Madness January 2014)

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