Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Dusty 15

Sometimes I think I see a white cat
slink around the corner
coming to tell me that he will die before I do
so as not to worry

but I worry that going to bed
is becoming one big thing
instead of scattered m&m's
behind me and
unopened bags before me

I worry that going to bed
has melted into an entity
and will no longer be
scattered m&m's behind me
with unopened bags before me

one time
before I went to bed
I received a picture of a waterfall
he sent me a picture of a waterfall
he said

I want to grow here with you
then and now the asterisks exist
sparkling around my ideas
of waterfalls, love, butterflies
he also sent me a picture that said
love is friendship set on fire
I also received a picture that said
love is friendship set on fire

in general, there is nothing I'd rather be
but when it comes to where I've been
it never feels like enough

just around the corner
just around the river bend
I think of all the rivers
running dry on our time
rivers that will die before I do

around the bend is still a rainy softball practice
or a black and white concentration camp
where everyone comes back as a cat
where everyone comes back
just around the corner from my bedroom
is the classroom where my teacher
pretended to be Hitler

with time, the rooms merge and
I am forced to hang up
a do not disturb sign on my doorknob

in my room thinking
thinking what if
my tag was dusty

I squeeze my cheeks in my hands
I look out the window
do not disturb me...

Once underground in a cold tunnel
with lots of little red night lights
it was dark except for the red night-lights
the night-lights had various settings-
blue, yellow, green, blue-green, yellow-red
the tunnels were cold and damp
but also had various settings
like swimming in an ocean with
a variety of temperature pockets
I could hear the echo of water trickling
infinitely far and wet

I took big gulps of the underground air
licking my lips and my cold face
looking around to see who else

I cupped more air between my hands
drank it down and licked my fingers
I cupped more air between my hands
and stroked it like a smooth, lucky rock
while walking towards the waterfall
singing acapella like Willie Wonka
following the trickle wondering
who else follows a trickle
heavy butterflies flapping inside of me

just around the corner
just around the river bend

doesn't make the cut
but I make the cuts my own
I own the cuts and
wonder who will care for me
and my cuts
if I lay bleeding on the tunnel floor
will the cat turn his head?

owls cooing near the trickling
shiny velvet bugs on my toes
shiny temple shoes on my feet

butterfly fossils decorate the walls
I am singing to myself in acapella
I am young and I love to be young
what's my age again
I am free and I love to be free
what's my age again?
and I am waiting to sing this again
once I stop singing

I found a temperature pocket
that was an east coast summer night
a pocket full of fireflies, gum and pennies
I was alone together with the humidity
trying to spread it on my stale baguette
to take to a breezy, French countryside pocket
to have a picnic while we listen to the trickle

I thought I saw a girl in sweatpants
slink around the corner
on the butt her sweatpants said "here kitty"
on the butt my sweatpants said "softball"
this pocket was full of cold bricks

waiting for summer
waiting for September
waiting for spring
waiting to leave
waiting to go back
waiting to die
waiting to die like a butterfly
waiting to be hung in a bedroom
that the girls built themselves