We drove by the car shop to meet your dad, said he talked to a fellow, a local mechanic who wasn’t afraid to let him know his career wasn’t a real job. Early morning shooting of dreams, only to launch the conversation. There’s a language spoken here in silence: cruel realities and even curler dreams.
Because for the past six mornings,
I’ve awoken to the restructuring of this city,
Been blown into the renovations of myself.
And as I move out of your sovereignty,
I’m scared to create my own,
to imitate your torment.
Yes, to saw off your grip cost me more blood.
I’m more outside than your severed wrist.
Control functions still prevail,
Outside your grasp on me.
Can’t you just leave me to stare down
this burning spark before my lips?
To kiss the flame and forget you.
Am I doing it again,
watching the bees, not flowers.
Mushing blossomed leaves
perched in sunlight,
interrupting their fall into the glimmer.
Am I not admiring the trees
Look what feeds from its sap.
And when I get too remedied on the fragments, it breaks.
I’ve been here long enough to witness the reconstruction of this town,
long enough for them to rebuild over top of me.
Now when I leave home,
I face the moon
and the absence of you
living two doors down.
Remember the front room window?
I stare into that time from the elevator,
someone just moved out.
I’m still here, and still, nothing is mine.