Composing my Words

Forget everything  but when I was at my best  when I was your flirty little thing and nothing could go wrong.

It’s a calamity, oh baby  The turning from winter  and nothing’s better than the color green.

And so we are now nothing, No more than the melted snow draining into soil but baby,

 It’s spring.

Guess I thought 

I was someone important 

to you

and now we don’t speak

 as if we were strangers. 

I don’t know anymore

  I just.

It’s all a breeze in the wind.

A collection of distant sounds.

 You’re a name 

framed between branches of

trees until it fades

Into the blue of the sky.

My body clung to the chair from clothes just tossed, clean of course but might as well be dirty now. My eyes are looking at the frame of the window. The Alaskan sky is blue today, the type of blue that makes you feel like you could fall upward. Wouldn’t it be lovely to be the falcon? To trace the edges of the clouds looking between and always between because it’s not enough to hear what someone says. You have to parse between to find the heart of it. It could always be a delusion. The yearning to find the hidden love in the pauses. Does he look at me differently? Could this be something?

It's spring now, and it wasn't anything but I think I love him.

We split like a morning orange peeled until we were strangers.

We are left with the flesh with what was, our names seeds again.

I wait for the sun to rise along the Alaskan costal trail. I am tired but sleep is a long off thought. My eyes graze along mountains as if they were in arms reach. On the wings of pink and orange blazes from the long off peaks. Warmth, a hug flung upon the world. The color green is coming to life in the trees. Small birds calling and I imagine they know my name.

All this time I've sank into the night where I thought I was nothing.

The melt of snow is a smothering of colors as green murmurs. Their is a smell of gunk left by what was. Textures like a vomit of renewal. An expanding mess of browns as I shuffle last year around.

My hands are in the muck, shovels of flesh as my finger nails capture dirt. The petty feeling of wanting to be wanted.

To grow something worth seeing, and without words you know happiness is there.

Finding words where I don't want them, upon a branch a broken clock. Bare and born of snow. I haven't felt like myself lately. Work breaching the sea over and over. All I do is dream between. Spring is within reach. It all could be framed with leaves. Maybe all this could be something better.

I’d be remiss to say that I hadn’t thought of you throughout my day.

The Alaskan sun going down later and later dragging my shadow along with it.

The bikers cut through air and the plane glides and the blue has never been bluer

and

I can’t stop the thought of you as the shade eats at the ground.

The clouds are drifting creating different shapes but not in the shape of you.

I don’t know what love is,

I don’t know what love is,

-13

I’m outside scraping away at the windshield

thinking how the lips of a man would be

a soothing end 

     to winter.

       It’s so easy to crave spring when everything is frosted over in crystal.

 They shimmer, as the light, an idea of warmth       dances.  

    Each inhale a dull ache. 

       The exhale a churning fog.

The road bends as I move a hand along the hip.

 I’m driving away and never towards. 

Schrodinger's Marriage

He applied lip balm rolling it over pink hills as if he was painting. 

I asked “what is this all for?”

He replied. “For chapped lips.”

“No, this,” I moved my arms wide sweeping them out like a bird as if I’d ascend.

“This?” He said holding the chapped stick in the dim light of the comet piercing the sky like his ear. “cherry flavor.”

“We do this until the end?”

A black and white cat in a driveway. I take a picture but it’s underexposed. I continue walking engrossed in thoughts I thought I could out walk. I gave up running because my knees hurt and it would catch up anyways. My wrist hurts, and I don’t know anymore. Where is my father? What would it be like to be close to my mother? Why am I here? What’s this all for anyway, I’m in the middle of a park. A giant bouncing castle takes up space like I do but the kids are laughing and do they know this space extends greater than the sky? I made it to the empty parking lot where I once waited for my friend's ex to take pictures of him on a skateboard but he never showed. Does he think about this, Whatever this is? No one checks in on me anymore but I forget I’m an adult and therapists exist like dentists who I hate waiting to pull on what you’re avoiding.