Envelop

It’s underrated
the forgiving painted
face peeling off of
the laundromat
where everything’s at
when its dark out
and you aren’t allowed
to scout too far away.

She takes her time there
everyday and works
at what she thinks
she has a need for.
Making chains out of her
hemp chords and the wooden
beads that slide apart
too easily.

Doors close as quickly
as they open so stop
your hoping for a gap
to put your foot in.
I am sitting on the edge
of a rooftop I don’t live under
while the thunder scares
the rest of them inside.

All the abandoned creepy
churches could be recycled
as just spaces there to think.
Here at the brink of our destruction
when the construction has no end
that I can picture.

Don’t try to fix her
with your ideas of
how things could just be
better if you followed
in the footsteps of the rest.
Just hold her close against
your chest and let the fog
conform around you
until there’s nothing left
except the motion of your breath.

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