I cherrypick over days that I don't understand and
when I walk into class an hour past nobody asks why
because the truth is we could all have *** up our sleeves in the time that it takes
for a drug-sniffing teacher to say "marijuana"
but today I wasn't crushing a blunt in the handicap lot
No,
last night my alarm clock died in its sleep
bless its life
and bless my rest, sometimes
I can let life do the cherrypicking for me.

We are the kinds of people
who love first
     (maybe against mountains
     landscapes
     mountainscapes)
fingerpick cherries
cherrypick at dawn
paint birds and blues and telephones.

Live in E
die in B
sleep in space.

Write of main characters
     (but dream of antagonists
     on planes
     or fields further upstate).

Frame flowers before they have the chance
     to wilt
stuff clothes into backpacks
sing along with church choirs
     from the alleyway next door.

Imagine biography covers and post-war memorials
look at poetry like a lampshade
leave for fear of holding on
return in hopes of holding
     (set sail for north woods
     carry weight like hurricanes
     steal moments for beggars
     retreat as quickly as god)
stride past roads with cameras.

Stencil where we should sketch
finish with a flourish
lay by waterfronts
lie by stormfronts
take breaths like in movies.

Need like children
dream of signs
     (road signs
     shop signs
     celestial signs
     all are the same, all are the same)
climb heights to speak of majesty
climb down to think of it.

Witness each other's faces like
     smatterings of people in cars.

Arrange alphabetically
depart dramatically
realize with horror
     but abolish without difficulty
watch things fall apart
mix up the pieces
work without ethic.

     (Things we get wrong we
     right but things we get
     right are already wrong.)

Wind up in books we've never read.

Change chords and regret the knowing
     that we can never not know last.

**** it.
**** it.
**** it.

This manic mind
This depressed
This suppressed
This unimpressed
Pervious
Imeasurable mass of emptiness
Overflowing with sadness no, not so
Simple as that

But more an interweaving madness
A growing mass
Like a tumor
Malignant with forelorn
And adorned with ornamental sentiment
Regret and all the things one forgets
Just to **** it up and get on with it

And the day to day, it stays that way
We cut out our tongues for lack of lungs
To breathe the air required to care enough
To speak the words we need to say

Everyday
We cherrypick our blessings and forget
To give credit to the lesser triumphs we've made
Day after day

We watch the light shine brightest
And we let it fade and fade
Never reaching out into the growing darkness
For fear we will be dragged away.

It feels weird, that
I could cherrypick
what to and
what not to remember,
Some things, you
just completely dismiss
till someone says,
"Remember when.."
Then out comes the
flushed memories, idling...
But others?
You can't even scoop out
from that bowl of a head,
Even with a sharpened,
heated spoon.