Displacement

I missed you in bed last night. If you had been there I would have shifted as I always do, so that your head could fit on my lap as I type, situating the weight of my arm along the back of your neck so that you know I am there, but not pressing on you too hard. It was a long day of sitting in front of a low-grade tractor beam, pulled a millimeter at a time into the world’s biggest pile of shit, images of infant corpses and burning hospitals juxtaposed with…