men pacing on rooftops in the sun
and clouds above them, almost high enough
to see the rollercoasters in the distance
no wind, just beating heat on chests and backs
and upon themselves, the men take in
the empty questions
"why am i here?"
they answer themselves with,
"where else would i be?"
come up short.

a kid kicks an empty pop can in the next town over
his best friend trails behind and watches
he's holding a fist in his pocket
just waiting for something,

everybody in this town waits
while everybody in the next town waits
while all the faces in the next next town stare into
the blank screen of every single day.

laying listless but can't move.


down here it's just winners and losers and don't get caught on the wrong side of that line

i'm tired of comin out on this losin end.

Feeling much better, much more real,
much more alive.
Got all cut up, got done with him cuttin up
and i was not the one to run
Made up so much of it, gave out more than that
got a big dumb dull nothing back
Wadn't upset with it, knew what was coming from it
busted through the wall anyway
I know what I'm doing, I know what I did,
there's no crawling into holes now
I'm much better for it, I've grown older cause of it,
and he's still folding in on himself
There's no one else, there is everyone else and
last night I dreamt of liars
We're too ready for it, I'm all gone and here and present now
And things will fall in, and roll off like everything else
And I will welcome it. Still.

It wasn't the softness of his summer 

rubber fingers,

but the death behind the blankets,

beneath the searching palms

and the empty pressing into my back.

face it.

Am I impervious? I once thought. Now I think not.

Two books.

It's a toss up night.
Keep fallin behind, not bein heard, not bein seen.
I remember how easy it is to not be heard or seen when you're sad.
Forgot all about that, feigning perpetual "okay-ness"
Keeps people at bay quite well.
Afraid to get to the point where you can't put your shit away
and people can see it and then regard it with hands open
or dismiss it with faces turned away.

I bet there is enough time, though.
To go thru this folder of randoms
Unidentifiable spirits, aching calms.

You would read them in a deeper voice, trying not to laugh.
I would be intent and sincere and
you'd fall deeper into the bed, it sinking to a space
I did not know about before.

For example,

"Libby on the couch, Jenny in the sand.
Penny in my pocket, Quarter in my hand."

You would read that and think of the absence
of the bottom of all your pockets.
No bottom, no found, no discovery.
Some things more precious than others.
And we would pause too long cause
nothing will ever fill that blurry, senseless, creeping absurdness
that is always placed firmly between our faces.

I would read Chapter 78, an excerpt:

"...you wake to nothing the same. and you have changed, in your dreams.
what've they made you, but less afraid?"


You would never hear about the morning the house shook.
Or the front yard back yard too-long-dwelling-before-recognizing.
The twisting, the shrinking of the things that are supposed
to keep me comfortable.
The reckless abandon.
I'm done. It's here. Let's go.

Today is a good day Today.

I woke up this morning and I was shivering. This was a welcomed shiver.
My room feels good now that I moved it around.
Things feel closer to me. Myself, my dreams.

Everything felt soft to me this morning, and even now.

Walked to work with my shoes in my purse and bare feet
on the sidewalks, streets, grass, rocks, rain.
It was pouring. Thought about asking a roommate for a ride, then
understood how much better my day would be if it started with
just me and the rain. The rain. The rain. The rain.
Tarp Rain.

Daydreaming some simple things. Plausible things, but things that
rest solely on single decisions. Moments. Pure and fleeting.

Ahhhh, days of rest, thank you. Days of solitude, thank you.
Days of utter emersion and confusion and not being able to
see straight from all the gushing. Thank you.