Under the Heat Dome (Cheap Imitation of Stephen King)

The Basement (Cheapest Imitation of AC)

I’m sitting on leather
(vegan leather, before I am seen out with an iced oat milk latte!)
rather comfortably while the world melts away in its throes,
both physically and literally I might add.
I very easily understand how disillusioned one can become in the basement
of a family home so far removed from pedestrian persistence (pestilence?)
and the other “p word” that has brought down many great men and women alike (referencing the pandemic, not the giving of h*** however academic!)

I wonder how many people I’ll meet in my life? 1,000, 10,000, 100,000
And how many times I’ll fall in love? Really fall, not lust from scrolling through your Instagram archives for five dehydrated minutes,
More like an impulse purchase,
And since when did romance become a commodity?
Will there be a correction on this hyper-inflated hook-up culture!
When will going “public” mean, once again, with your relationship and not your dating app!
If happy hour serves only “links in bio” or “initials in bio,”
I’m the designated driver!
Please do, get drunk off your liquor locker love, off with the emojis, and to the bridge! Lock him up and throw away the key!

Sorry, I meant that for the last person to commit a mass shooting,
to rape a girl and get off, from the act, with white privilege, and a legal team worthy of OJ, and for the police shootings of unarmed Black men in the United States.

My first and only invite to study in the cool human-made cavern is not for wont because the house was listed and sold the day after,
Man has made both market and climate hotter than upon arrival, ruining much, like every colonizer story.
Soon someone new (and with deeper pockets) will occupy this space in all its glory (there’s a glory h*** too but only because the CDC recommended it during the pandemic),
And I’ll awake at once with sweat five layers of grief deep because how can I live without air conditioning?