Don't go so fast
You forget to look at the stars
Again

I found an old homesite
in the woods,
next to a church, or at least
what looked
like the remains of one

Rocks overgrown with weeds
and vines, a doorway
leading nowhere
in either direction, and

I think
I thought
I was maybe Christ

I think there were birds taking flight
from my open hands

The laughter of children
buried like bones
beneath
the terrible blue sky.

At 11 AM, I awoke and went to inform my mother that the day was timeless. I then sat amongst it and waited for the thing to recommence/

It didn't.

Later, I
found myself in aisle no. 5 (an obligation valued before the supposed ceasing of time), becoming - !desperado! in aisle no. 5, 5 for baking, because baking is community, comfort, a kiss on the forehead, a dream. Disgusted by the
lighting
of the place, I hurried with my business, out and past the parking lot people who appeared quite oblivious to this state of affairs. One glanced at me, but my aisle 5 eyes took care of the situation.

I woke up in the car, tried my hardest to ignore the fakeness of the dash clock, and pulled
out
into the road, leaving aisle 5 behind in some pop-up book land of apparent responsibility.

And cried, as it is oh so weary to crave death in a place so meant for life.
  
∞

Sometimes,

I think of taking my hands
And ripping - splitting - cracking,
My ribcage in two.
                                                            ­            
The breastbone splintering apart,
My torso opening like a rotten tree.
The inside hollowed,
Like a lake that has been emptied
 
I've convinced myself that
Fragrant flowers
Would grow there.

That they would grow feverishly
In the gnawing gap
I had created.

And that time would preserve
What I had done.

Last night, I died my hair blue. To match the blue
dresses I seem to wear or the earrings. There has been blue in my dreams, and,
naturally,
when I look over at the sky and out at the sea (a few chosen molecules happening to scatter that wavelength best).

_ Beneath _ my skin, it tosses  e n d l e s s,
as well as on ^top^ where I draw it in as
      l          w         r  petals
f          o           e        
and ((((oceans)))) for all eyes.

It’s a place, blue is. It’s in my head and waiting to plunge at my eyelids if they should ever close.
~ Blue ~ is:

  erase
  expose
  rest

  Pulse. His eyes. Pulse. Are gone; this is a new blue, a deeper blue, a me-er blue. My own. (!+!+!)

Turns out- you were mostly whole with a few ruts, and I, a smattering of solids, was just enough to fill them in till they'd grown out.