Sometimes I get worried that the edges
of my thoughts are getting sharper
in a way that is as literal as knives.

Which is to say that I have made
some poor decisions, but  somehow
it all adds up to burning light.
That one beam of something
ancient gave me all my sight.

A broken piece of circular glass is
bleeding my palms like how my palms
can bleed an orange with the simple
brief formation of a fist.

I get so pissed when I’m reminded
of the steps that lead up to the front porch
where I knocked and never told you I was going.

You have the perfect way of knowing when
I’m fucking up and need you to step in
and make me realize I have been the one
worth fighting the whole time.

Maybe all this waiting has been a lie
and there never was a nightmare to begin with.
What a perfect way to sabotage our dreams.

I take stock of the last six years in the parking lot
of a liquor store, I’ve never entered, and ignore
the constant faces at my window.

I’m concerned the seasons will work backwards
this year and it will hit us in a way
that gives us time.

The leaves will all rewind
up to their branches, and the axis of the earth
will know the power of its spin.
We can begin though our plans
have been exhausted.

We had something that we cherished
more than once, but having lost it,
we’ve discovered just how useless
all that fear was never knowing when to die.

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