West, and the light is brighter here
than ever before
even with the cold.
We joked once
about going to California
swimming in the ocean
where the sun is always shining
and the sky has never learned
to close its eyes.
Bones cracked beneath the weight of non-existence,
we knit them together in some kind of
spent the night in a cheap hotel
brought home souvenirs:
a tacky mug from a roadside gift shop
a candle in a jar
a book about the Grateful Dead
the taste of fruit
The woodstove makes a cry like something dying
to be born
and outside the fourth floor window,
there’s a blue jay
fat and puffed with self-importance
singing lullabyes to his reflection
in the glass.
I got bitten by a fire ant last weekend, for the first time in forever, and it reminded me of this tiny little thing I wrote nearly three years ago. It makes sense to me, anyway.
We lay tangled
each breath a taste of
like a wish
and in the cold we built forever
out of smoke and flame
and ash- there are things that we won’t know
until it’s over
and in the end
we may lie tangled
like a wish.
i was in your
i held the scent of
under my tongue
it made me high
it made me sleep
it made me
what was that
our words are mumbles, something like
what was this.
we are hazy filters layered over an already
herbal tea and jazz
picnics on the floor and waiting
to will our sun-blind eyes