I. objects (in order of appearance)
1) my mother's china
2) your mood
3) my jeans
4) the days before
5) his car
6) her crayons
7) the sea by where you live
i have all night, i can wait you out.
in chipping paint stairwells
i long for sunlight but end up under fluorescent;
after, the eerie screen glow drags me down again
to the depths of a boiling sea.
i wander alone along asphalt expanses mirrored by the scuff of denim as my bike clambers/rambles along. (this paint its peeling too.)
IV. st christopher
bruises flower across the sockets of my eyes,
peel back my scalp and i
wonder what is written there in the cracking of my skull?
plastic surrounds me,
a tarp overhead against the cold.
i huddle against the steam:
it tastes like bleach when i inhale my small place.
He laughs and his eyes crease in blinding smiles that remind me why I love to dream.
We go to the market and October teases my hair (on purpose of course), and the briskness that burrows into the weave of my scarf to chill the skin of my neck whispers in my ear look up! I grin, because I already know what color the sky will be.
I think of her and buy a bracelet with thirteen eyes with which to stare back.
I watch clouds trace the flipside as the San Pablo stretches away beyond my sight, lost to eucalyptus.
I can feel the edges of everything,
tangible enough to stroke;
I feel cocooned,
like lazy piano notes that trickle into my head then
plunge below the treble line and sink to weight my feet.
a/n: this was a color poem, in case you couldn't tell. (blue).