Pour.

  

Dreaming of

Wet concrete

A place I can live and work and feel whole

Like a human,

…whatever that means.

Dreaming of

Your face

Alight in happiness

Like a beacon calling some salt-chapped mariner home.

But the reality is

I love the rain obsessively  

Where my work never makes me satisfied

In an anger

That never subsides.

The reality is

Like a nightmare   

Mired in amphetamines

Like a distortion without future or past.

Why then

Have we been wrought?

To this level of exchange

Where I feel you like the smell of some familiar cigarette

Rising up through the air.

Why then

look upon me?

So full of derision

Where I feel like a fool I once knew

Falling through life blindly.

In moments

There is so much chaos

So much further to go

As if time feels like treacherous mountains

That must be traversed

In moments

I feel so deeply

With such sensitivity

As if the petals of myself peel back

In a rawness that I save for you.

  

And I’m learning

How to let go,

How to make things right

In ways that I never thought possible.

And I’m learning

That there is a kind of method

Spawned from the absence of possibility.

That arises in these moments

Where I awaken

To a world that is different and new

Under all the contextual things

consuming every facet of free attention. 

I awaken

Repeadely, as if surfacing

Upon the worlds that I have not yet known 

Where we are only beginning

to understand what the future holds