I feel low‬
‪Low down. ‬
‪ Sunken into the ground‬

‪My body weeps, ‬
‪seeps, ‬
‪On the floor‬
‪a **** carpet, slimy tendrils;‬

‪engulf and smother me. Please. ‬

‪Fill my ears, ‬
‪Cover the irises. ‬
‪Coalesce, a bodybag - zipped tight. ‬
‪It’s alright.‬

‪I don’t want to feel‬

‪ Low. ‬
‪Low down. ‬

As a periwinkle twilight descends upon the neighborhood, the eyes of the homes near me lift their sleepy lids.

The metal below my body cools and comforts as the fingers in my peripheral tenderly stroke brown flaky shards from its surface.


In the distance, the highway coos it's nightly song and the crickets respond

rapturously, a motorcycle flies by.


Im too high
  up for the bugs to find me.

I savor the street’s gentle curve
and think how the light grey pavement might be soft and soothing after all.

A bat freefalls, snags a current of air on my left

I hope that this fire escape doesn't fall

~~

8-14-17

Sometimes I like to play with fate. I slip the lenses from my eyes...

Sometimes, when the circles of light are all I can see, I cross the street - letting mother universe decide my demise.
I haven't ever had good depth perception

I am unsettled. Downtown at night confuses my eyes. All the bright lights make me feel drunk when I'm, truthfully, sober. Water drizzles down onto my exposed ears and neck, covering me with shiny, wet goosebumps.

A train Rolls by.

I can't stand up straight so well.

The shadows act differently when it rains, too.

I love downtown at night.
Especially when it rains. I am filled with a sense of contentment. Why?
       -I step in a puddle - ****-
something about the halo of the green light around the traffic signal. Something about the shine off of the street, like a slick mark on some man's lightly scuffed, yet new, Doc Martin makes me feel
   -The water is through my sock now-
happiness.

Soft shapes jump at me from around every corner - every crevasse in the pavement harbors another spawn of the deepest purple.

The bright lights make the rain look like snow

There's a beauty in darkness that isn't always noticed.
When you become void of one of your senses,
when the water of sightlessness hungrily rushes your lungs, and you acclimate yourself to the fact that the fear can only last for so long,
you will be freed from the burdens of sight.
From the overbearing pictures of the outside world

My brown leather boot disappears into the
white, downy crust that covers the earth.

A few hundred steps later and I find myself by a pond--
a frozen halo caressing the edges, suddenly broken by
a heron taking flight.

Cardinals play in the branches above the water.

Thorned trees, the names of which I am uneducated on,
drop clumps of snow on my head.

My notebook is soaked; the ink, now in spiderwebs charged
by the water, s(preads)lithers to the outermost bounds of the lines.

I am happy.

I begin to step in the opposite direction of the lake, making my
own personal perforations in the snow.

I happen to find myself on a road.
Step, step, step, step. Up over a hill.

Is that the ghost of Thomas Merton that I hear, venturing alongside of me?
No, I suppose not. It’s the sound of silence broken by the beat of my steps.

A puppy approaches me, dragging its owner along. I give it a pet, admire its
fox-red fur, and then we part.

I hear an engine start and the scrape, scrape, scrape
of a brush against a window.

I venture past four cows, who somehow find grass to graze on underneath the thick,
white powder.

Around a curve, over train tracks, each tie causing the snow to ripple.
Across a bridge, over a creek and into the snowy hills of Kentucky I go.