Irrational by Derek JG Williams for Tara We’ve got debt. It’s coming for us, big bad debt. It’s pouring out our ears, or down down down like rain becomes a Bob Dylan song. He’s got weather and cash to spare. Maybe we should write him a letter, better—letters together. There’s money in numbers. Yeah, we’ve got debt. Poems cost good coin, sure. And you lost all yours when your blood was sick back before I knew you. We used to sit around not doing much, or caring about much except our distant families. Far far far far—once you lived in Romania; once I lived in the desert. We used to write about all that distance. Now we type to fill it. All the broke ass equations can’t put things back where they were. I’d love to find you again some night while I’m walking home drunk, shouting in the street. You’d see me from blocks away and know my shadow —the most irrational gift I’ve earned.
