EIGHT A.M.

I happened to myself and everything disappeared.

I happened to be walking.

I happened and you were there and scared.

I happened to be an addict.

I happened with the glass in the bathtub.

I happened and there was a sound that came from heaven.

I happened and it was quiet.

I happened and your mouth blew open like a soda can.

I happened in high school.

I happened in my mother’s lap and the dead starlings.

I happened to be standing next to you.

I happened to the room before the room hung itself.

I happened to be lying.

I happened to download all the things that make you insecure.

I happened and it began to rain.

I happened to be an orange you were eating.

I happened to be a body that moves like a long dash and hamburger.

I happened to be the stove door and the pretty lady, circa 1950.

I happened to be nothing important.

I happened like a cake full of lightbulbs and a bat.

I happened to be barefoot and a worm.

I happened to be the worm.

I happened to the scissors when they should happen to me.

I happened to be there when the dog turned back into a boy.