8pm in the park

reading naked lunch on the grass in the breeze at dusk:

‘did you hear what he said? that man is a menace! everything he touches goes to…’

‘well, you know. remember like the character’s proposal to kill…’

‘so I just found that out…’

‘there’s you, and then there’s also gluten free, who’s like…’

‘but he was pissed off….’

‘she’s like “let me see what I can do”….’

‘if it’s not a yes, it’s a no…’

‘and I would…’

‘it depends what you’re having…’

‘yeah, underneath the table, or…’

‘someone was competitive…’

‘but that’s probably a gimmick, right?’

‘they all love you…’

‘where do you want to sit? next to them?’

‘are they more important to look at? absolutely…’

‘oh, a little bit of money, yeah…’

I find my feet to the path. *death to the colony* on the cemetery wall.

only dishes and news

the boulder is heavy with groceries and dreams I once believed in. my will is weaker than the arms that roll the stone.

I should be trying harder than I am. there are steps I need to take to find my way back to where I should be going. I am offered help and signs by those I worry. I am told I can change and that changing takes time. we have been here before.

waiting waters what rain cannot reach. resentment fills the buckets spared for gifts that never surface: no storm, no reply, no end of days. only dishes and news I choose to blame for my mood. I brush my teeth and wash my face and tell myself tomorrow is another day until it never comes.

not enough

I have been flailing for a while now. waiting in the same spot for far too long, knowing I need to change. stagnant like the heat that hangs heavy through the streets of the city I've fumbled. disappointment waits at the foot of the mattress. I sleep on the floor and dream of people and places I may never see again. in my head I count through the list of things I need to fix. the list is long and heavy on my shoulders. I want to light it with a match, or fold a paper plane to catch the wind and fly away. there's nowhere left for me to hide.

every problem leads back to this fickle assemblage of thoughts and organs at the keys. we've known this all along. and though he knows he needs to seize the reigns, he doesn't move. does he expect someone else to do the work? watch him limp in circles through the labyrinth he waters with his own self-pity. what will it take to get him moving? he protests quietly, a pathetic mumble about this time of year and the heat. he says he's trying as he continues to do nothing at all to get over himself. growth is a hopeful memory left at home.

the days keep coming. I open my phone to blame something else for how I feel: a tyrant, a war, an idea, a reply that never comes. sitting on the sidelines, my presence is passive. when I open my mouth there is less to say now. the voice I once claimed collects dust on the shelf by empty bottles of care. I shirk responsibility for the map I should be drawing. the lines make such little sense. the reflection is a nightmare they say I could change if I really tried. my parents love me and I love them too. there is food in the fridge and a chance of showers in the morning. is this not enough?

without fail

I try to tie my thoughts to words but the space between is vast and they are never strong enough. every breath keeps me moving down a path I can’t control. every morning asks for more. I think about control and wind up trailing down circles in my head. the illusion is grand and knowledge feels less certain now. I fall through gaps between facts and feeling into sleep. tomorrow comes and asks for more. I breathe and oblige without fail.

sitting on the boulder

I am where I was

and cannot reach beyond

the space between

belonging

a gap to mind

tomorrow

or a platform I can’t leave

by the edge of the world

in my head

out of touch

far from any track or train

waiting in the clouds for rain

or natural selection

sitting on the boulder

past the point

of resurrection.

like water

I envy every cloud that moves and dwarfs my world to dust.

no bombs on Sunday

my mother worries when I wake without a smile. she asks questions full of words she wants me to agree with. did I sleep okay? are you happy to be home? isn’t it nice to be together again? at the very least I’ll nod and hug her back. her love paves every step she takes. she hangs it on the walls of every room to keep us safe. I curse the light of every day that comes and still the love endures. she asks me to come home for Easter. another year is nothing but more time to spend. I wonder if she ever wonders why.

we wake to welcome news: no bombs on Sunday. the headlines are happy and much louder than another hundred deaths. how many more until the peace they promise on the weekend? the massacres continue. words have long since lost their meaning. what more could we hope for from a world that doesn’t care?

I pour my days into a screen to serve a god I don’t believe in. he pays me for the time and thoughts I’d rather spend asleep. I pray for dreams to take me somewhere else.