Winter gray today with all its luster,
I burn the soles of my bare feet
on the cold ground of the parking lot.
There’s a child’s car seat in the open
dumpster facing me and it is covered
in dried vomit that almost looks like
thick blood. The grass surrounding
everything is soaked from the flood,
and I create new muddy oceans
with each step I take toward
where I need to be.
This dream is like a sea because
everything is shifting. This includes
what you’d expect to be the most solid.
The brick walls of buildings,
or the faces of stoic people shivering
while they try to get into their cars.
This place has never been ours
we just live here on permission
from the woman wrapped in
banners behind the strip mall.
We are all capable of allowing
ourselves to give up.
To fall into the darkness with a shrug.
A certain pattern on a rug reminds me
of girl I once loaned money to, so she
could ride the bus home from the theater.
She never payed me back, but that’s my
own fault for not caring about the money.
I stand in the shadow of place designed
only for killing and I realize something
as simple as a porcelain mug.
We each get to decide what music our lives
are set to, and that’s even if we have no means
through which to hear it.