Snow swam down the hill, flooded the river and froze your smile.
When you talk you can’t forgive her. Speak speak. Nothing
matters. Anymore. Like after you finish your seventh line of coke.
Nod but they don’t hear you. And there is an air, an air of
Disturbance in your hair. Tousled, you run your fingers through it
Over and over. Your bed is backwards. Feet on pillow.
Don’t mind, don’t care. Rise from the flooded river
Tape up your heart, its pieces, throw it into the fare.
Shoes. Hair. Love. Where.
People. Pass. Love. Hasn
‘t. Been. Coming. On. Ve
ry. Strong. these. days.
When they told me I was seven, they had to scrape the gum out of my hair. I don’t remember much after Ms. Peterson yelled at us for knocking the mathematics table over. We had been fighting. Play fighting. That’s the last time I saw a glimmer of it. By the alley after school. By the tree house. In between freezie licks. Blue tongues. Inside smiles. Years ago. These days all I find are stabs at finding bodies. Souls. Through the mega-sphere of technological advances. Text me. I.M.-ed him. Online dating sights. She poked me. Where are real human moments. How did we lose all sense of real interaction. Strangers flood the streets everyday. Each one an opportunity to not be alone. To find a home. For all the Shoes. Hair. Love. Where. People pass. Love hasn’t been coming on very strong. These. Days.
When they told me I was ten, they had to scrape the gum out of my hair. I don’t remember much after Ms. Peterson yelled at us for knocking the mathematics table over. We had been fighting. Play fighting. That’s the last time I saw a glimmer of it.
Do you remember laughing. about nothing.
