I was happy for a while,
but it didn't turn out.
It was made of plain things
and I wanted to be beautiful.

I hoped for a while,
but it didn't stick.
It burned out through my pores like a sun spot in a photo.
Hope doesn't have limits like a body does.

And every morning, the world unfolds from beneath my pillow
like a crumpled raft inflating.
In the evening, my dreams escape like hot breath beneath the pressure of my head.