Fluorescence And The Boredoms

This year, I am a disillusionist, too much of a dog to be alive.

I am also a large cricket sometimes, in choking hot nights, hearing bat flight every time I close my eyes.
Reaching into my skull, I still get anxiety attacks and trip on your first novel.
In a museum, you talk about responsibility and pray before your pills.
In a human, you walk around with morning clinging to your cheeks, spitting.
And only when surrounded by fluorescence and the boredoms do you get the sensation that you are dying.

I also am a hummer and can whistle when my throat is wet.
On foreign streets, I get a good look at a train wreck.