‘Morning in a Dorm Room’
Woke up this morning
to the start of hunting season
gunfire like scattered applause.
My cottonmouth is bad and rotten
my nightkicking has entwined me in the sheets like a fish.
Out the slit of my window
is the hill shaped like a boot
the leaves of its trees like different sherbets.
I stare up at the white plaster ceiling
pocked with gooseflesh
and urge the deer to run
drawing the comforter over my head
when the cold seeps through the screen.
I sleep three quarters of a pine tree high.
I want to sleep all day in my hot pocket of a bed
I want to smoke a pack of cigarettes
I want Einstein to crawl out of his poster on the right wall
And take me to Fiji on the left.