Saturday, February 5

Streetlights Under the New Moon

Scraping stickers off the skin of my heart
you know
the ones that have been there
collecting dust
in the back of a second hand store

Its the kind of desk you've dreamed of
sitting in your room
with the thoughts of a writing space
a place in which to communicate your deepest sense of truth

but to who?
who's listening?

The stickiness of the sticker is the kind you have to peel
layer upon layer
fingernail to wood
until it punctures the skin under your nail
and you have to search for its origen
but then suddenly
like insight comes
you realize you have a partial license plate key chain that could make the scraping a bit easier
or so you thought
and perhaps it did

The dance continues
and you stare at your new deep purple curtains
which somehow hang in a way that
bring you a sense of relief
at the time

Yet superimposed against the fabric of your life
you question everything
all if it
why celibacy?
why now?
why providence?
why a borderline mother?
a PTSD veteran father?

why chasing yellow trails that gently remind you of silence?
of love?
of the impossible?

But this desk
oh yes
this desk will hold you upright in your darkest hours
and you'll weep
once again
under the emergent hope of white blankets
in the blue light of dawn
once again
and sense
in this place
this time
this space