beneath a dusty cover wrapped in vintage string,
fear…
is a story we read to ourselves
while sitting silent behind curtains that hide the moon
from pages trying to hold on to passing clouds,
that smell like rain.
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fear
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table
looking down through his glass
held by hands like bricks,
he saw where the wine from tears
had left their stains of disappointment
deep inside the splinters of a broken table.
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raindrops
he hoped the lonely tears that fell down his cheeks
were like the raindrops that fall down from the sky …
for only a little while.
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plan b
old shadows
that hover over the rocks and stones
in front of him
lead him with the wicked echos of regret
that his life had only become
his plan b.
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window
the boy in the window
carving a broken heart in his breath,
realized the condensation dripping down
was like watching his tears…
die on his lips.
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van Gogh
he freed his fingers from my hand
to paint his own van Gogh
on the side of another square
he felt was a better fit.
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huckleberry
with a carnival balloon in hand
and paper banjos playing softly beside the river he walked home,
pausing only for a moment
to released the fictional helium hope
of ever finding his own huckleberry friend…
then quietly placed his love in the museum of his soul.
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