sloppy

while the moon kisses the stars,
a man sits in the bathtub, recounting his scars
and naming them after galaxies; the water
sloshes at his knees, and he regards them
as the seas, hoping to devour. they,
however, don't know this is his hour

while the sun peeks up, over the valley,
in a bed sits a girl named Sally
her knees no longer shake, for she is
determined to break
her own heart
and don't tell me she
is stupid, for she is quite smart;
but with a bite comes a bark

in the afternoon, a bit in between,
the sun is at its highest, and a young boy
at his lowest. it is not the boy's fault,
the sun's fault, even the world's.

our population is over seven billion, and if
there is a god, he's gotten sloppy. placing
us here with used parts, worn minds, and saying
"good luck. you're no longer mine."