nothing exists in Wyoming
no planes, trains, automobiles
ketchup, liquor, and other shenanigans
living, dying, and other gravitas
street corners, prescriptions, tricks to pull
poetry, cigarettes, tabletops
highs and lows you could adjust to
make believers you could relate with
sunsets to capture in your grip
and the rises, to write up as
just the beginning of
the rest of your life
every day, you promise
to yourself
no, not a thing
in fact, Wyoming doesn't exist
it’s just a place I made up
just now, just for coping
with not knowing exactly
where you are, darling
you still kill me that much
