in morning


love is another thing
we count on our fingers




there’s a hornets’ nest
of sympathy
in the texts your ex deleted


let’s all hope
to be as warm
and meaningless
as a bodhisattva
or a bathtub


turn my name
into my name
into your name
into our name


empty my name
like an ashtray
or an envelope


empty my name
until you find
a place to fit your fingers




i don’t believe anymore
in grapefruit or palmwine
or the petitioning of thanks


the floorboards are louder
when you’re home


(you’re home)




we pushed another two fingers
between a rooftop
and a jawbone




my past was a church sign’s
worth of limbs
but we pray to house paint now


we pray to silent sheets
to the corners of our mouths
to each other’s chanting ceiling fans


we pray to sinks that drain
the way we’d always dreamt


to the thermostat
to the empty bags


we pray to each other by fingertip
us there
sweating in the unwashed sunlight
through the blinds





About the Author

Zooey Ghostly is a bag of cashews spilled onto the sidewalk.