the Smiths v. Dorian Gray

it's raining and gray outside.

i'm listening to the Smiths

in a poorly-lit living room

and

anticipation mixes with laze.

earlier this morning

i remembered Gainesville.

i read Oscar Wilde

and watched

insomnias unfold.

the metallic click of space heaters

on February nights.

i still recall:

that

fleeting feeling of fleeing

those empty days

and the

siphoning of night.