i defecate around 9:00 a.m.
most days.
same toilet.
same cracked tile.
same weird patch of mold on the ceiling
that kind of looks like a map of Texas.
i don’t mean to.
it’s not scheduled.
but somehow,
my body knows the rhythm
of coffee, regret,
and 37 minutes of scrolling the headlines.
“economy strong,”
they say.
“markets up,”
they say.
so i shit,
as a counterpoint.
it’s not rebellion.
it’s not commentary.
it’s just what happens
when nothing else moves
except you
and the soft parts of you
that no one on CNBC ever talks about.
sometimes i light a candle.
sometimes i don’t.
depends on whether i remember
what it feels like to care.
the toilet winces.
the ceiling mold spreads.
and i begin my day
with another futile
flush.
