I. Rising

Ideas gather like a swarm of bees
swimming in its own noise

Red landscape, alert and armed
yet cross eyed with sleep
the defining clicks of my clock
provides closure,
mouth stitched shut
no more words for today
no more to pour and wonder who they are for.

II. Realizing

I admire the lines stretched out branch-like at the edge of his eye
inflamed with blue and residue
skin spilling into skin along his bottom lid,
smile as forgiving and patient as his brow
speckled grey and brown

The beginnings of beauty are so plain that descriptions can be bypassed
children, flowers, and stars are universally acceptable

objects spin and submerge: windowsills,
salt shakers, a shoelace dribbling on the concrete
until the very idea covers neglected territory
(you can be so lovely sometimes).

sinking into the arms of a stranger
ink blotting ink, spelling out words too passionate for public viewing,
stark and honest-naked against the bone white paper
as slim as memory

III. Contemplating

I wish, I wish, I wish...

i could shrink skin and mind, dream of better times
lie in this small patch of sunshine till it all becomes
irrelevant
Pure light pieces me whole, no sign of fading
full and bursting at the seams.

IV. Lamenting

arms gather eluded riches
eighteen years spent starved and un-carved
only to be interrupted by a voice
deep and rain filled, drawing light out of the room
now stone cold and uncluttered
only remnants being shadow, a solitary stamp of darkness
far away popcorn snaps in a microwave bubbling in heat

door struggles as i readjust my view of the world,
fasten my eyes towards the sky
rain coming down at all angles
as I watch in a desert car,
static still.

V. Remembering/Forgetting

darts hit the ground
popcorn noises,
puckering sounds of the mouth
plinking down in great succession
cymbals leaking into the roof
brand new gloves never worn
resting in my lap

-a continuous rap on the door by a large steel hand
I close my eyes and drift, until I feel a faint tremor of light graze my face,
afternoon orange.