I have had this reoccurring dream.

that the sun is so bright
I become paralyzed.
unable to open my eyes.

My face
contorted.

     eyebrows raised
     jaw stretched
     pupils restless.

body immobile.

I remain.  
not exactly,
yet at the same time completely,

blind.

I don't know if I'd call it a nightmare,
but it's the only dream that scares me.

Tis morning,
my " " key stopped working.
I'm trying to write my paper,
and it's so distracting.

As if I wasn't distracted enoug already.
I ate tis.
But I ave to write my paper.
But at least now I ave someting to blame my distraction on
oter tan you.

A hallway.
for me and you
was a couple of leaps between shadows
to
laughter followed by scolding
and
right back to the hallway again.

Once,
You made
Five hundred and thirty-six miles
A hallway.

A carpet trail
Turned sinuous backcountry roads
In the dark of late fall,
The skeletal trees
Of Upstate New York
Unlike our home’s shoe-print walls.

My eyes burned with relief
At the headlights of your car.
Lugging puffy blankets through my door
Laughing at your air mattress,
To my roommate’s dismay,
Taking up the floor.

From highways to new hallways
Laced with your memories  
Those concrete corridors
In their freedom-filled, fluorescent glory.

To our current hallway,
Where your door mirrors mine
Where you paint with 5 o’clock sunlight
On my freckled face.
The smell of cheaply brewed coffee
That we separately make.

I laid on the asphalt with my eyes on the sky.

My hands were flattened: palms pressing toward the ground and picking up the intricacies of my driveway, forming tributary imprints on my skin.

My legs were sprawled and my feet angled pointedly outward.

A piece of pink chalk, quickly waning in size, tethered me to this position.

Elena, my closest childhood friend, had taken it upon herself to outline my body from head to toe. She had been on my left leg when the chalk brushed up against my left calf ever so slightly,

and I flinched.

That prompted a scolding that wasn’t the first and surely wouldn’t be the last.

“Hold still!”

I squirmed at every close encounter. Suddenly every inch of my body had an itch calling for a scratch, my chin-length, dark hair trailing on my cheek was begging to be brushed away. I wrinkled my nose at the dust drifting in the air that was emanating from her tedious tracing.

I sneezed.

Elena jumped back, causing the chalk line to veer violently off the course of my figure’s frame.

She rolled her eyes and huffed and told me it was finished anyway.

I peeled myself off the ground, inspecting my hands and brushing pebbles off my shorts.
I slowly tip-toed out of the rugged lines that had corralled my body.

The creature of contour before us resembled a puffy figure closer to the Michelin Man than my smaller-than-average seven-year-old frame.

My fingers were ballooned and bumpy; my legs curved as if boneless.

Elena and I exchanged a look of dissatisfaction.

“It doesn’t really look like me,” I replied frankly.

Save-a-Lot
gets wiped clean of grape jelly
in the springtime for orange beauties.

I obsess over the whimsy.
I repeat it like proverb.
I tell them,
so they can see in this little moment
that orange and purple fit together.

You wouldn't believe
that they are boomerangs
silhouetting by the late sun
it came to our minds easy

thinking about it often
stuck on orange and purple
and boomerang flight.

its hilarious when he says it
then I say the same sentence
but the words sound fumbley and dumb
I end up chuckling it off and we laugh about how dumb it was when I said it

so supposedly it's all about the delivery
I guess I'll work at a pizza place then.
oh wait I already did
but I stopped doing that because it wrecked my car
my car said "please no more"

it started with the misfiring
I was like okay lets take you to the shop
so the misfiring stopped and i was like all better now right?
little ham and pineapple to this house, how bout a pepperoni over here
oh and what about some cheezy bread to 455 barry st.

a week later i turned the key and the start up was slow and i could hear the murmurs
"please no more"
I was like come on you are my income
but the tan beast was relentless and finally I took it to the shop again
and quit my job.
now my beastly and tan station wagon is in tip top condition
and I'm going to work on my delivery
of words and jokes and actions and kindness and all good things
but not pizzas
even though pizza is a very good thing
i love you my lovely car please take me on more adventures

This garden you planted in my mind.

Weeded out my doubts
Your words like seeds
Your thoughts caring
Like the clouds
Looking out for the ground
With their rain.

I shook you off
Like the branches
And the leaves in November.

Yet you returned
Like the spring
And you’re slow to scold winter.

Why do I feel like just a machine?
With the inabilty to think, to hope.... to dream.

Mindless work that covers all of the hours..
I get home, plop on my bed
through a grumpy mind, I feel sour

To use my mind in healthy ways
not stocking shelves or pulling weeds.

Go for a bike ride
read and write some more
to be intentional..
But nope only time to snore.

My idea of a good morning is at six AM
when two cases of fettuccine alfredo,
captured by the gravity of this planet,
dive for the white speckled tile.
Trying to **** me.
Glass, alfredo, smell of cheap pasta in the air.
I look around
sigh
delicately begin to pick up glass.
Tiny shards make my skin their home.
My leather boots have never encountered such a substance.
Oh fettuccine, sweet fettuccine
I will never consume again.