“It’s like I’ve gone through the looking glass.
Never to return again.”
I loved both of them,
but that doesn’t mean they weren’t stupid.
There’s some love
That waits
And some that leaves
And she’s never held a single
poetic thought in mind, never
on birthdays,
i’m afraid to let balloons drift too far away from my palm
of fear they’ll lose their shape.
culture will never be color fast
no matter how many times you try to wash it—
in the hot water cycle
with the harsh detergent that promises on its label to get the impurities out—
it’ll just keep bleeding
They are amber saplings from my heart
pushing against the world
making room for themselves
amongst plastic hangers
and fast moving traffic
“Many words and then disgust.”
I’m guilty of it, too.
But I went to the cascading mass for seven minutes.
Remember when?
I don’t.
Lighter than ashes, darker
than the collars of men
in pressed suits. Locked doors.