as the birds rise anger

flustered & fighting over

mountains we have trailed but never touched,

nymphs crouch on fields tickled but never trailed,

and linger on those haunting night songs-

this life warbles regret

memories of hair pressed flat in its jet black arrogance

non-existent hips trying to sway like those movies

you weren’t supposed to see-

now my best regret is having lived a life in love.

seems all of california stops

just for us to live.

and the soft glow of Dawn

pauses to press her hand on my cheek

mockingly, maybe,

today has started without me.

the hands of this watch are painted on with anxiety

painted with projects and notebooks

and rehearsals and essays

and guitars and costumes

and.

maybe i should have stayed where i knew i belonged

maybe the sun has awakened for everyone but me

maybe i need.

maybe this is just pessimism-

but what would have been of me home?

atlanta has become but a burial ground now

when every land and every person

you know has left

you become acquainted with loneliness

you exchange numbers with isolation-

add them to your contacts list

you make amends with gods you’ve never known

listen to the devil dance of your heartbeat

and the angel cry of your breath with new intensity

even the dogs bark danger from here-

but god these mountains tryna steal my sunshine.

even in spineless seats i still sit straight,

sprinting seconds closing in and

there’s no cars up here,

but i swear i hear something running-

days beginning, never stopping till they end

this wish-seed schedule:

mumbling under my breath,

yelling from our diaphragm,

his mouth widening like horse ready to rear me off

comply,

he whispers with unhinged jaw,

you are mine now.

Mine.

this blood rush body is foreign to me

she’s spiraling again

but if we tell ourselves the truth

i’d know the schedules and the jobs to do

are nothing in comparison to losing you

i can grovel

and overcompensate

and wrench myself open just to sew myself back shut again,

but what will that do?

destiny is in the secrets of the pausing sun-

the only things these mountains have taught me is my mother:

the way her hips wind in the hills,

eyes wander like leaves strewn across this city,

lips grass kissing the soles of my feet,

hair rivers sounding somewhere-

there’s a drought here now.

no mother steps away to sing me

sugar coated struggle sounds of living

it’s no wonder now i sing and it sounds of Sorrow

she sounded of the stars and now my voice sounds of empty

when i left i left my spine there with her-

passion

should be lived knowing that it is mine.

should be stop

and interact with the olympus skin body controlling me:

whack away at the leaves

herd through abandoned cows

on newly mannered pirate of a horse

and look those obstacles in the mirror

should tell it

no

should be chuckle in its face should be

accomplish spiteful, but never hateful

should live forgiveness, but never premature

should live

Mine.