bubble, then stew
Rose Gelfand


soaked to the
brim on I-80W, my
uber driver exclaims
that it, in fact, stinks

i    nod.
he     tells   me   when   it   rains   this   hard  
all   the   toothbrush   covers,
nail   clippings,  and   phone   cases    
flush   off   the   pebble   beaches
into   the   wetland’s   hair

a    door    appears    in    a    room
that    had    finally    accepted
its    doorlessness

in     your     wake
i     chase     every     light     on     19th
almost     miss     the     neon
blink;     crippled
in     the     mission     of     my     spine
i     am     nothing     if     not     overbearing

disjointed      and      heavy,      all      i      can      seem    
to      do      is       swell    


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