A Random Collection of the Real and the Surreal
the heat seeps
out of the pavement
in long whisps
stealing the air
from my lungs
the city suffocates
and i shuffle
to the mailbox
kicking magnolia leaves
peering inside
for love letters
that never come
the tomatoes
at the farmer’s market
smell sour and earthy
but i’m still
rifling through
dirty clothes
trying to capture
what’s left of your
skin on my shirts
i sit on benches
drinking beer
sweat dripping
down the backs
of my thighs
desperate to remember
anything at all
the sun sets angry red
over the downtown skyline
the buildings are
ugly and fragmented
and i miss
the curve of your back
the construction site
where no one ever works
gapes like hades
in the humid night
i kick cones
and throw rocks
no one sees
me anymore
i can wonder
all night along
the railroad tracks
but it won’t make
the phone ring.
your hands would shake
while you talked
as if they didn’t belong
to your body
moving on a will
of their own
you couldn’t get out of
bed for days
wrestling in the dark
avoiding the july sun
but the plants in the
living room were still
green and full
mocking you
in their stillness
the medicines never worked
just leaving you
anxious and bloated
leaving you turning
the pages of the bible
for relief that never came
i would stare
at my own raw hands
at the tearstains
on my shoes
my bloodshot eyes
and unwashed hair
wondering what
help i could possibly
give to you
that i didn’t require
myself
i tossed and turned
in the sheets
i sank and sweltered
in the covers
i breathed too fast
and moved too slow
my fingernails
disappeared again and
i wondered
how long before
my hands started
shaking like that.
