A piece of hope in my head from those weekends away, along with pieces of wine and a part of a piece of a passing day and a man in a Jaguar doesn’t look any happier than me and that’s not big or small. Another trip to the airport is a piece brought here and a piece to the past and a distortion of time and pieces of space and pieces of time overlapping a lean-to I helped build in my youth against writers that are against tattoos.
An inopportune moment, but I feel like writing and sometimes those moments are best.
Spent today eeking out an existence inside a small piece of me, stealing away a valuable day.
We communicate through our accomplishments. A subtle shift is a season. A long weekend splicing my desires splitting my excitement into what am I doing with myselves but hold strong hold steady hold on anyway. The weather is even fitting for that. Fresh ink on my skin it’s almost clicking. Almost familiar. Stop gazing off it won’t just happen it’s only almost familiar don’t push it a change in light and it’s all skimmed off the top. Don’t push it. Today’s a lingering day it’s a let things happen and when you breath smell just a little bit more through the nostrils and pretend to pick up hints of apple blossoms (even if you’ve never smelled them).
Where were you when
When the neighborhood opened up?
When the shingles spilled from the roofs?
When the real people all emerged from their routines and the hermits rushed from the hills to rejoice (wisdom passed down)?
Where were you for all this and more (still standing in line?) and where were you when I was reminiscing about days spent lingering and I was left to linger all alone?
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