honeydunce

Sitting on a curb, west coast
Caffeine and no sleep, the sun coming up
Telephone poles like paralyzed eye lashes
On down the line, small and away;

Vs—

Cold rain and car wheels
Parade of windshields and wipers
The slick inch of hair pressed to forehead
Drying out
The 10 and 2
The slow bus sludge through the strip into the yawn,
A city—

An eighth & the roof
Spirograph clouds, the spindle-splay
Of a snowflake body below
Shingles and initials
Laughing myself to saline
Making paths to ear pools
The rush of
I could be anything
The flight pattern wings
Coffee and cracked brown

Vs—

Wearing a red dress to my grandfather’s funeral
Watching my mother break down over his missing tie
The folded triangle of stars and stripes
From officer to matriarch the
Beautiful talk on vapors and unraveling
Easy speak of difficult, there is no holding
And I could not find the grave/I’d have to look
If you drove me—

The vast is a master of slight;
torn apart bedroom, smoke trickling incense

I fell asleep last night
While listening to my neighbor play the saw
Gin belly powderkeg mind
Van with little windows, open