I'll send the poem one sec (it's long sorry)
Streetlamps drip amber into puddles,
and each ripple
is a voice I used to know,
all vowels stretched thin
like wet laundry between buildings.
A paper bird hangs in the rain,
its beak melting into the sky,
wings sagging with the weight of
not knowing where to go,
not knowing where it’s been.
The ground opens in hairline fractures,
tiny mouths swallowing
the silver coins I scatter for luck.
They glint once,
then sink like unspoken apologies.
I plant clocks in the garden,
but the hands always root downward,
searching for the hour
I misplaced in my sleep.
The minutes sprout brittle stems,
and the petals are all closing,
closing before they’ve even opened.
Windows breathe in and out,
their glass fogging with names
I can’t write fast enough.
Some smear into rain,
some dissolve into
that hollow taste after crying.
Street signs sway
like tired heads at a funeral,
their letters drifting off
as if the air itself
doesn’t believe in permanence.
The horizon is a seam
unraveling in my pocket;
the sky spills through
like marbles rolling away,
green, blue, brown,
never the same color twice,
never slowing,
never returning.
Behind my eyes,
a carousel turns with no music.
The painted horses
are missing their eyes,
their mouths filled with sand.
I wave at their backs,
pretending my hand isn’t empty,
pretending the rain isn’t
washing away the thread that keeps me
stitched to anything at all.
Caption this Meme
