blind bird soaring, cows cower under tree arches,
the world dimmed, filtered with darkness,
a sliver of brightness as moon meets the sun
and butterflies flying over sunflowers and corn,
cicadas in their steady hum and faraway storms,
I am like a rabbit, timid and terrified for what’s to come,
and a wolf, hardened and loyal and always craving,
or perhaps Missouri gravel roads and littered stars,
not the dread of a Great Lake, but sunnier days.
when I awake, I am alone,
when I sing in my room, I am alone.
when I walk to work, I am inside myself.
when I dream my strangeness, I am inside myself.
when I go to sleep, I am still alone,
and when I watch tv, I am usually alone.
and the sadness is greatest when I am alone,
and when the thoughts come around,
I can become a lost believer if I never
be what I thought I could be,
but sometimes, there is so much
I believe I could be, so much left to say,
and when I think this, I am inside myself,
I am alone and belief comes from within.
if I have not gone far yet, I have still gone places,
I explore the trees, I saw a dead yellow bird on the sidewalk,
I take the meanings, a coyote stood in front of my headlights
and stared me down and I did not flinch, strong is easy.
being weak isn’t, I am overwhelmed with heartache,
it’s a self responsibility, to understand the cause
and move forward, I am trying daily to adjust temper dials,
to live with less frustration and anxiousness, blindness,
maybe I stared at the sun too long, maybe I’m rushing,
but maybe there isn’t ever enough time if you forget yourself.
but life is peaches, I can make cobbler, pie, and plainness,
I can be oolong failure, I moped around for a guy on a mo-ped,
nobody wants to move or drown, and I’m trying not to expire,
when time drags like this, I’m otherly and planet-less,
I roam before a landing and haunt a living room;
if we’re not weeping with Etta, what’s the point?