My body is building defenses

against dark things with layers

upon layers of alternate timelines

where sometimes the heart beats

swimmingly and sometimes it beats

sluggishly – or skips altogether –

and the nerve endings feel like

they’ve been filed down to bare nubs

and my head keeps growing

from the inside, heavy with knowing less

but seeing more and there’s a small space

in reserve for dreams that gets pushed

this way and that but I hold firm

to the one thing I won’t lose.

music ricochets off the stone wall 

thumping like mathematics on the playground 

smoke peeks through her hair 

finding no solace 

among far too many lonely afternoons 

roads wait to be paved 

old men wait for the news 

dogs circle their favorite spots 

the kid still thinks there’s a future 

but his mom is tired 

and the shadows have grown long 

there’s still tomorrow for now 

and if we’re lucky 

we’re dancing on the inside

She felt the weight of the day

before she opened her eyes.

It felt like trying to lift the ceiling

off the floor, only to fall like overripe fruit.

.

How many hours can I push around

sunlight and rain trying to make

a fractal that calls to the fern,

she wondered silently?

.

Maybe if I stand very still in the forest,

with only memories of movement and hurt,

I will be swallowed by moss and bears

(which feels oddly impending), she smiled.

.

There’s a savior out there somewhere,

she thought, and he’s making the earth

tremble with his laughter.

I’d like to laugh too once I stop being sad.

Moments have become bent

or maybe they’re bowing beneath

the brutal beauty of blue skies,

thin green chunks of time

waving in a spring breeze

awaiting the Big Blossoming.