One Cushion

Being adult’s the kind of thing you slip into–

Not like a new pair of socks. 

Those are comfortable. Safe. Warm. Made of wool. 

We’re all mad here. Hosting parties with glass mugs and silverware bought from homes

and gardens. 

We laugh about taxes and dental appointments that our mom did not make for us.

Someone sports a ring and the conversation does not revolve around quidditch

but dates and vendors. 

Who got their nails done?

My latest achievement was a year end review. What the fuck is that?

The boasts and brag and fine china

Showcasing our tastes and

Positions when our bodies’ 

Language presents a fact that we’re 

All teenagers 

Nervously walking around sipping wine.

Tremble

We were adventuring travellers or

Traveling adventurers

I don’t know

But I knew that we were when the car was stopped

So close to home

At 3 am. When the world was sleeping

And we should have been too

But we got out to wake with the stars and

Pushed through the cobwebs with silky attempts to deter us from going down to go up

above

The wooden planks squeaked like some sort of creature trying to jump our bones and even

When we lost one to the darkness we ran just

So

And We found him again.

Everything was quiet.

Everything was dark.

Like when you read a book under the covers at night and there was no light

except for the flashlight and when you heard

noises like mum or dad checking in on you, you put it down

so that the light peeped through the holes in your blanket.

That was us.

That stars came out for a bit, trying to hide from us but we saw.

The fireflies didn’t help their case either since they kept teasing us and making us on our

guard.

He said a few words and so did I and so did they but mostly we watched and

Even though it was

Late. And shadowy

We were traveling adventurers

Just taking

The long way home

Bedside Candle

I took a shower for clarity because after all

thoughts are best served with a side

Of conditioner

To smooth my ranging mind and calm my shoulders.

My hair and neck are full of knots

I can’t release:

Rinse

Repeat.

On this the eve of history I can either

Keep up juggling blue and red just likes the veins and nerves that make up my straining

eyes.

As they can’t comprehend what I see on the screen

Bed is calling. White neutral solitude that is

Mine

Alone

I’ve voted twice now today and

They’re both for me.

Sorry history but the soft mattress of the last normal

Night is calling me. Nestled in between

a rock and

a soft place –

I know what I choose.

Is the world really going to change that much?

Either way I’m still going to work tomorrow.

And that’s it: a bunch of me’s

voting for me’s who are

reflections of the me’s that voted for them.

Scary monsters, stay under my bed,

you’re only supposed to exist in fairytales.

So tonight I’ll light my fire

burning

red and blue

through the night, keeping the monsters as bay, risking the house burning down.

Who cares. You, me or I?

I want it.

I got it.

And we’ll see what happens when I wake.

Budapest

A shop there.

One cat, two feathered blankets, just warm enough for a

wizened native to buy both.

The pattern on his hat reflects my bewilderment but the palms bring forth

gold that’s hot then cold then hot then cold.

Just like the seasons and the souls

of many a man who’s touched

hard-bitten currency.

I wrench my gaze away from a Google search and pull out

another eyelash, wishing it fell,

wishing a breeze could come make dreams true.

45 hours turn to 89 and I couldn’t count for one or two

while the per minutes can and everyone’s yelling

make a difference, time’s of the essence.

But who’s time to us, or we to time because

God,

Damn it,

is asynchronous and enveloping and one day

I won’t have to worry, like him. As I throw my tonic tears

off the cliff, my dry eyelashes fall like leaves and

my desires stay stagnant to a point.

 

Retrospective Name Branding

Why was I labelled that?

Stretch my taffy cheeks in a mudslide,

til my eyes become nonsensical

sockets.

Don’t–it’s elastic, ecstatic, electric my fence–

and there’s no window for you to peep through.

It’s not my fault,

Only a carat

seduced her when I’d go for three,

I guess that’s why I’m a born again snowman.

Stop that yelling, smack it out, let it breathe.

It’s not my fault, I didn’t want to be given this

it’s not a gift but a

burden. Too heavy for a child to

resist or

choose.

Our future selves should get to name us–

but isn’t that what our parents are?

Icelandic Saga

One day I will bask in the Northern Lights.

This tan did not come from sunlight

but the shine of an icy green sky.

When did God decide jello looks better

pierced with diamonds and spread across

my silkiest, 1000 count bedsheet?

When did God get so smart?

Turn up the wheel, my iPod nano and $2

airplane headphones carry me there–

let me drink that.

No thank you, I can’t stomach seltzer water tainted by 6 miles

of altitude and sticky plastic.

Give me an emerald hurricane through a straw,

carbonated with stars.

Stretch out my legs, dipped in chilly wool socks,

I’m not putting on the movie screen,

I don’t care for your glasses,

let me burn.