Dinner with the Trees
and the dreamy city was beautiful sepia pink blue beyond the window-streets and loveless
people. it was serenity-like. roses on windowsills and people riding tandem bikes.
and it was ours. all of it was ours forever and no longer.
us. we were us.
and that city, that dreamy, boat floating city? it needed us.
so we went back.
And if the lights ever go out in my apartment before midnight I just want you to know it’s because my protruding spine caught on the rays and spat them back at the ceiling into the above, extinguishing the light like my ribcage. Forever and forever.
Out my window, the skeleton buildings bursting from the ground, they look like bare boned stories.
Just. Look. Just don’t count me out, okay?
Stars birthing stars and moons making way for dark matter that eats up the sky with its black heartlessness and unknown. They’re burning cigarettes down to smoke and the fumes are in my, your, our lungs like black black black death and forgotten yesterdays. Breathe it. Inhale, exhale and our organs are fire alarms.
When they tell you that you don’t belong, you just know that you’re never going down.
Because those kind of people-- they’re feathler-less and they glide as if the world doesn’t tilt like we know it does.
(Stupid everyday breathers living frostpink days in a frostbitten suburbs, the houses snowy cold like eyes and the sky full of mashed potatoes and servings of roast lamb, delicious heights and dizzying smells).
They don’t really exist, I know and you know.
Just remember back when we listened to heavy metal and I threw up in your car and we stopped for milkshakes at that second-hand road store, we were alive then, if you know what I mean. Those tastes and smells and feelings -- that was alive. Now? Now I don’t know if we even exist here amongst the tall skypeaks and lowroads.
And the skeleton buildings are bursting from the ground and they look like bare boned
stories...
So excuse me, the trees are joining me for dinner.