for a second you are an animated
middle aged
rich caucasian
whose worries rest between
subtle frequencies on his car stereo
blaring traffic, weather and sports scores on it's eights-
(it would seem you're almost two entire minutes behind)
(the slowest watch you've had since junior high)
-and the perfect bottle of wine for overpriced chinese leftovers
as you find your usual right
your gut whispers to your brain
and instead you keep driving
considering all of the mistakes I've made
I'm lucky to be alive
but I sure don't ever think it
considering the way I've treated those in my life
who mean more to me than everything
it's hard to believe I have anything
blocks out of your way you find a dark space
pointed asymmetry, bricks, and escapes
in that alley I took an extra big whiff of the evening
each nostril reminding me it was nostalgia that lead me here
still not sure what it was that would ask me to leave
rotting charts
and graphs we made
to prove to one another our ideas match what we thought might pass as actions
left for transients and garbage men
but what if it's not just our feet that are wet anymore?
maybe we aren't almost there
maybe we should be scared
now tell your children.
go home and tell your children.
