i forget the way words go. count in my head. back. monkeys. two three four. popular routes to get to the concrete sin of the way headlights flash at night. in rain. ice cubes. slide.

break.

letter,

the gps stopped working. new batteries. a click and tap on the top of the desk where it's flat and the damage wouldn't be too severe. to route. took off the plastic back cover and poked electronic panels. unnavigable. to map. the satellite still doesn't speak. and we wander through the neighborhoods with the dumb thing in our hands. we know the way. but we're waiting for it to tell us where to go.

stupid.

i don't know what it is sometimes. the dust that gets caught on the edges of my fingertips. decreases the sound and sense between words flashing around inside through the dull click of the keys on my less audible keyboard. sometimes there only just is silence and the invisible gnawing. like the tingling sensation of starvation along the edge of lowest edge. tricked under the ribs like all those things you keep trying to forget out. skinned knees and the aftermath of wet hot nights in june.