Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Stay in School

Those photographs that the dead girl took
of me running through fields in Indiana
with them that are dead to me,
are likely
the view from those heavy blue eyes.
Grey in exposure,
depleted faces, and fine, accurate lines.
Scans of bobbing ponytails through
tall corn and cloud skies.
She was tall,
and exceptionally kind.

Somewhere in Boston
in a white room by a tub,
heavy blonde hair kissed the tiles,
and that blue world view,
diminished into a dot.

Every time I die,
from childhood,
rolling cars,
mixed pills in a blackout drunk,
I wake the next morning,
underneath warm blankets.

Maybe she was only
half serious too,
somewhere in the red wine,
and cobbled stone streets,
but woke to empty lungs
underneath cold soil.

if it is conceived,
is stealing.
A girl in the lane beside me
only had one leg.
And a son in the Congo
ate his mother's leg.
the man in the commercial
is in a million dollar debt,
but all of the heavy heads here
are adorned with bricks,
pictured with slick,
selfish assholes.

All of them,
in converging coats
celebrate the fact that it's Tuesday.
Or Wednesday.
Or winter.
The notion of why,
tucked deep into abysmal pockets,
mixed with lint and pennies.
Thanks to the snood,
in her high ceiling tomb,
stealing ballots and checks,
those kindly waves
and ill written essays,
are her products of stupidity.

Tonight in the blanket snow,
blue and noir and light,
I'll keep becoming little worlds perhaps,
in new domes,
expanding, and uglier.
The ants have smaller brains
and bigger mouths here.

In the east nothing is orange,
or pink
or bright,
but breathing is okay,
thanks to the living woods,
and more breathing room
without the restraint
of suburban brains,
has become the better option.

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