Not quite white
Not quite latino
Not quite anything

Too dark to be white
Too light to be latino
Too mixed to be anything

Not quite that language
Not quite that accent
Not quite anything

Too feminine for this
Too masculine for that
Too mixed to be anything

Not quite this thing
Not quite that thing
Not quite anything

I’m alone.
My future, deceiving.
Longing for a grip.
I’m crying for help,
but everyone seems to have their headphones in.

I’m lost in my thoughts, utterly alone,
staring at those huge peaks clawing at the heavens.
This little homestead dwarfed by those mountains.
I feel small here, this country is vast
and there’s no one here, another planet
victorious in making a more beautiful Earth
without vile creatures poisoning it.
The air is fresh and smells of primroses
and ozone from a distant thunderstorm
behind me across the plains.
This must be a dream, I think to myself,
but I’m too afraid to pinch my arm,
just in case I’m right.

At the Jenny Lake overlook, the mountains looming
as I sit by the water so still,
reflecting the mountains so well
that I can’t tell up from down.
The smell of the pines overwhelms me
and I wade into that cool water
as an eagle whistles into a valley,
the mountains whistling back
and I whistle too, caught in the moment.
The others on the shore whistle too,
and I swear the dozen of us were infinite.

Sugar is bad for you,
especially,
saccharine maple thoughts
that you cannot afford
due to the hazard
of overweight ego
dense with the aftertaste
of adipose fantasies
clogging the arterial bonds
that tether you
to solid ground

Stop the caramelized madness
from carbohydrating your soul
into victim obesity
causing the full
arrest of your spirit

The sweet is guilty,
distorted in mirrors,
a negative image
of a past feeling,
present reflection
born of the collision
of intentions and consequences