too much warehouse district, too much cold bus stop,
too much rent and paper-thin paycheck,
too much sawdust and scrap metal, scars on my arms,
too much heart in my chest pinching lungs in half,
too much gray landscape on the surface of my brain,
too many holes in my jeans,
too much is too much and she comes to me,
a past-life in present tense
renaissance,
and i wash away in headsong
her arms
are long
like rope, so i climb up to her atmosphere,
falcon nest, copasetic blue, a million cartoon parachutes
her face
is calm
a laughing sun, always april, shelter from angry storms,
and i fall asleep on her cheek
her heart
feels solved
like a vase, open ended vessel,
woman shaped, smooth crystal, a wishing well,
her
thoughts are
time machines, rosary beads, wind hitting a wind chime
with accidental pleasure,
she says to me
if the world is an actor then the
actor is a villain
and the drama that we write puts reason in the rain
and the stage is a mirror for the hero in our head,
symbols rearranged, flashlights for weapons, trick shots to
heaven,
if the world is an actor
then the actor is
a villain
she says
go deep
if it soothes, smoothes, sink to he bottom of real,
self aware, river mud,
one eye flashing hazard lights, one eye filled with shadow
fish
exhale and dissolve,
inhale and
evolve,
love will remember your name, will skip stones across the
surface,
trails to lead you back home
somewhere,
pastries fall off the back of a bakery truck
and the ravens move in quick,
somewhere, a mangy black dog enjoys a brown leather shoe,
somewhere, beyond the blue air of earth
a cross-eyes comet makes awkward circles around
a dying star,
somewhere, a photograph unfolds, faded,
fingers tracing the silver shapes, and a daydream rings
loader than a bus driver’s battle cry--
hey, you
getting on or what?
