a simple pattern that guarantees living. I'm not sure where I'm at right now, or what this journey is.
they say something, some line, about days like this.
I tip my head down, eyes refusing to meet theres
I stick my hands deep in my pockets as if I could find some reserve of strength there,
some lost memory of myself, like a wrinkled receipt, like a cool copper penny
I wish my eyes had windshield wipers instead of lids to blink, eyelashes to flutter...
I would swoosh these visions off the side, they'd gather crunched into the bottom
and I would swipe them off
I would drive through birds and storms and wires
freedom
I do not want peace.
I want freedom.
libertas.
you said it so elegantly. you said it so plainly.
that I wanted to swallow it.
coughing up my heart as I do, too often.
swallow it, as I wish to swallow the moon.
on a day like this. I'd crunch on the glory of fallen leaves, wet slicked to the ground
and call forth a million ghosts to haunt my head. memory.
i want to belong. i want to belong somewhere else.
is it a hushed voice within me?
the holy dove with a broken wing.
faith.
laughter so loud, it clobbers down my spine making me shiver. I do not want to take part.
I imagine the fire escape, our voices trailing off into night and fog over that cold iron
wringing our hands, tapping our feet, so many noises to fit the space where our words could go
and I couldn't say... why I cried over that movie, over the scene where they smile.
but it seemed they were taking in their hands the freedom I yearn for,
and it broke, like a dam inside me, to envy them so, to reach so... stretching like a yoga pose
years, where will I be, where will you go?
all the old metaphors, they pop and simmer like ashes departing from a fire, floating.
worn edges.
the end of being proud.
stand apart, stand alone, but ask. speak.
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