Strings for the Neighbor

Shell shallow 

Shell empty

Pretend the sky is the ocean. 

Heroic, disguised horizon 

masks the feeble quality in this town. 

This focused game, these veiled eyes 

makes it feel like malcontent. 

Leave the wool,

Perhaps being a fool is worth it (at night). 

A grey, muddy circus world 

could feel real. 

Fleeting partnerships, impermanent, 

And the loneliest empty seat on the Ferris wheel. 

I grasp at rugs leading each day, 

to once again cough up the dirt. 

Leave behind the curling tile floor and scabbed knees. 

Shreds of neon light through broken glass, 

Dusty shades—and  shudders—  

A temporary warmth, a hue 

A hot white-blue. 

The burning— 

stinging— 

of the slivers and shreds of light through 

untrusting eyelids,

the pictures against the back of them, 

I’ll wander amongst again. 

But before I walk with too much freedom, 

I allow focus— 

A grey sea-sky pours into an empty room. 

Yearning for cliffs to explain my size, 

I recall my intent. 

Quell the ache with color, light, and the momentary raising of my skin.