Rust

He is crying on his couch and twenty five hundred miles away my rain boot honesty is rubbing my ankles. Isn't there a threshold to this evening, a breaking point where all the qualms burst into tulips? or hydrangeas? But not carnations, you know that much about me. There are blisters so bear with me and let me put some stretch into the seams. dry your eyes with whatever you can find. He keeps saying, "please, please, let me be your home." But i am nervous of the rain, my dear, and the planes, and the rust left on the chrome.

Nantucket

The lake looks like Nantucket. If I were Herman Melville I would sit on my windowsill and write a chapter about corn chowder with my fountain pen. Everything is especially gloomy today and there's a white whale somewhere out there bobbing in the surf next to my uncertainty. I need a harpoon or a time machine. I need a plane ride. I need a sunburn. I need a raincoat. I wish rain ever fell softly anymore. It's always so violent.

Clouds

sometimes i think we are more like clouds

than people

& sometimes we collide in the sky

& we are vapor against vapor

& there is some kind of buzz between us

a spark

a fire