with windows open,
and the fear far behind the trees,
I sit at a table filled with books,
just gazing upon them,
touching them like they are an endangered species,
and wishing the wind would wipe
the sweat from my spine
and the worry from my all-the-time.
my phone vibrates in my pocket,
but I don't care to retrieve it from black jeans
which I have been wearing every day
since October birthdays and bad days;
maybe that is what smells of regret.
loud is the silence of my heart,
which I woke up to this morning
beating in my ears like a reverb train
coming to kill me still;
I couldn't fall back to sleep
as I thought of the people in my family tree
who have rotten from the inside out
and heartattack blues so sweet
they make you miss the hurt
just like abusive New York City
that kicks you when you are sinking.
asked her to put her ear to my chest
to see if she can hear what I hear,
and the face was that of a person
who has fallen into a volcano,
thus rendering me dead lightning.