Today crawled like a spider on a web with
thin, pointed legs like needles
in my skin, administered by a bad acupuncturist.
I find myself continually
continuing on an unmarked road
with headphones on my ears buzzing to the noise
of soft tin and electrical Umph and Ah; messin
with the thin little hairs on my scratchy head.
Today, I see the world spinning, replacing that
familiar light blue above me, a panorama of all
that I don’t reach out for, that I tell myself has
been stripped out of arm’s reach.
I sit by the tall tree and mope again and again,
hoping someone will pass by. Maybe I wish
someone would join me in this lonely forest,
more than I wish
I could leave.
Today, I end a poem like my eyelids,
with forceful and unconditional determination
and I wonder how heavy they will be when I rise
the next morning, weighed down by the force
of pain that has emerged, anthropomorphized,
from the depths of my body, my mind, my soul.
Weakness scares me more than death, because
it consumes me like a chill running through my bones
and suddenly I lose that all powerful
separation between you
and me.
Today, that separation sits as a knife in my chest.
Today, is not much different than many days.

Today, moss felt like felt on my fingers
as I stretched my hands on the nearest tree
and watched as the clouds formed and vanished
over the small, swampy lake. I sat at the edge,
just beyond the edge of the water, and stared
without focus. The crow landed on the
branch above me and cawed deliberately and I
silently wished I could echo his sentiment.
Today turned into a respite from the forest
that I had entered to rest;
an escape from an escape.
And as I smell the breeze off the lake, I
hide my recognition of the anesthesia in the air
because I like the sun on my face,
the wood-chips pressing into my palms, the
dirt in between my toes.
And as my head drifts back down to the ground
my eyes rolling back
I smile momentarily, wondering
but not bothering to care, because
I can’t.

Today I continued through the forest, unaware
that I wasn’t breathing right. And so I stopped
at a large, thick tree, and leaned up
against the wet, moss-covered trunk
thirsty for a glass of awareness. I knelt
and pressed my face into the mulch and dirt
so I could breath in the earth,
but all I smelled was dust.
Today, the navy-blue forest felt colder
but I felt warmer. I saw a crow, perched high
up on a branch, and I called out to him.
And as he flew
down to meet me, I opened my eyes.
I had tripped on a wire made of disturbing
disheartening, dismaying feelings.
But I was too tired, too vacant, to cry.
I stood up, brushed off my jeans,
and continued onward.

Today, the sun felt like warm aluminum
pressing against my skin, as I inhaled
the glare off his sunglasses, and the tsk
as she smirked. And as I took that overly
metaphorical ride home, I felt
the crunch under foot as I
stepped into a navy-blue forest,
where the birds sing as often as the sun shines
and I realize that I never really left this place
because even when I return I am
still trying to find the exit.
And I am
tired of being lost, even if I’m not going
in circles. Tired of reflecting on the nature
of reality, when I can’t even see the sky.
Tired, but not tired enough to quit moving;
not tired enough to give up the feeling of
sap on my fingers, and dew drops on my legs.
Not tired enough, even though I wonder,
when I secretly know the answer,
who planted these seeds that gave birth to
all these trees. And if they will fall
before I find my way out.

Today asked open-ended questions
but I didn’t answer, I was wearing
yellow sunglasses,
and I couldn’t see
the unalterable reality of the situation.
Today, truth was not analyzed, it was
deflected
to the other side of the net
and I spent minutes
precious minutes, wondering:
Which way am I going?
Do I have enough time?
How long will it take?
Until I felt like I was spinning in circles
stepping on poetry
like rotten apples,
decomposing at my feet.
Today, tall grass laughed
as I moved further into the
dark, unsettling tunnel;
not looking back.

Today, I avoid yet another poem because
the hours have vanished and waking felt
more like dreaming, like a leaf, a burst of color,
floating slowly to the ground
and it wasn’t until I sensed the cold,
dark earth beneath me that I arose from
my slumber and entered into one more
of these lonely, forgotten days.
Today was as oblivious as a sea turtle
when I awoke,
groggy and sore, standing in the chilly
eastern breeze. I turned away from the
window as the sun sank
into the thin, shaky trees.
And today, I approached inspiration but found
myself falling, again, into an endless pit
of dreams without endings, and hopes without
grounding. I stumbled through a swamp
of doubt and lack of faith. All around me
inspiration appeared like a phantasm;
only visible from out of the
edge of my vision.
All until I fell face-down in the mud
and gave up
again.

Today, tired eyes floated across light blue
college-ruled lines and down heavily waxed
floors. Rooms smelled like paper and plastic
as the dew dripped from the leaves in
the golden sunrise.
Today emerged into cold ankles and warm feet
on the carpet; learning how to dance a
mental waltz, from poetry to metaphorical
symmetry. Finding the strings and searching
for their ends, I pull one to see what I will
discover, but they are just strings
and I am just tired.