Quarantined in 400 square feet of, “I’m used to this, it’s home.”
I managed to cook and clean. Birds sing, enjoying the sun.
I sit here, enjoying my solitude.
Declared a pandemic, let us begin by remembering that love is also capable of being this.
Love should always be this.
I am only scared because the calm inside me is yawning.
I knew it’d come in handy to entertain my vibrant misanthropy.
A city in affliction, while precautionary poetry acts like a solution.
There isn’t time for sadness.
A cocktail numbs the malady.
A poem encourages ease.
I gladly see no purpose.
I sleep to get relief.