The trick to all this is I have to be truthful, right?
See, I look at the fan over my head
and I think it wants to kill me. Not in that psychotic, serial way.
But slowly, with an allure and panache, a swagger. It is patient
unlike some pasts I unwillingly remember
and it will wait smiling. It will wait
for just the right moment
to turn the moon into a strobe light
and switch my heart off.
