Lost in flesh Inside your head You see him again in the Past dripping with so much blood it escaped into the pond from rivers along the length of his limbs I don’t know his face, still, barely I remember him swaying like a lightening rod and begging for help, not even that Gurgling the word, and it took me a second to register how wide open his head was I didn’t gag, but I didn’t breathe either I dropped my keys and yelled too A precious reminder of the tides beneath the foam There seems to be no desire left It collapses in on itself like the old barns succumbing to blustery wind out in the yard Where the wild things grow A heart made of the soft river stones that shine but shed their soft talcum brill A young woman is perched on a bridge Somewhere else but it is happening Right now Some kid is waiting for the right stop Thinking his body is so heavy And counting the steps to his front door Outside my honda some kids are loud like a muffled faucet dripping laughter from the other room Evening feels further away than it used to feel Everyone feels further away too I would try to tell you a story now but Everything seems less important when the mist returns in the morning in this place It’s a fatal question to dance around in circles of frustration Watching some others offer it’s existence up for capital When you can’t pin it down with an arrow or settle it’s parameters with measurements Or wrestle it down like a bucking bull and a faithless matador doing his duty to his country It can’t be as simple as the ways in which we quantify Even the process of writing has become dispassionate, there seems to be no use in what the meaning is The question looks quaint at arms length The boy is home in bed, thinking about buying beer tomorrow and if he was hit by a car or someone shot him how long does it take to bleed out and just So yes, I would try to tell you a story to explain myself better but, I can’t I’d tell you a story but the truth is I’m confused by how much there is to tell The intricacies of the truth, the aspersions of summing up the contents after breaking them down The way nothing always happens for A Reason The way most things always happen for some type of reason but not A Reason The way I feel today The way a fly poops on what it lands but you can’t see that The way these things are never sold, nor told, nor need to be believed to be true. You know the way it goes, do we die in our own **** or do we **** before we die and did the chicken even know the road was a road when it was crossing to the other side? The man is 65. I remember this because a girl and a guy had seen the man and I and he told her this. He tried to laugh and he choked on his own blood. He had wrapped his face in a brown tshirt And placed his hat over the wound Covered by that. He looked like Freddy from that movie Freddie vs Jason but somehow mostly formidable in that he was soaked in the red, drying in the sun like glistening crusting paint, chipping away I don’t pray very much but I did today after the ambulance came, I prayed all Monday I thought about who that man was A young woman is perched on a bridge Somewhere else but it is happening right now And she is suddenly having it, she’s having the truth and she doesn’t say anything but she Puts her hands in her pockets and doesn’t move And then does, and presses a cigarette to her mouth and doesn’t move And the filter gets soggy and She sits there and decides to light it And finally she moves away from the murky dark water and walks to her car The mouth of the maw glistening against moonlight slated shadows The seeker holds her heart and picks up the stones as she goes, doesn’t look back