Apologies to Nujabes
The moon is a singing bowl
I can feel its vibrations on my eyes.
I can feel how the clouds move.
But my steady breath is a night mist avalanche
against red checkered scarf,
The air crisp around each drop
on my tan sweater
Bar sign blue hat droops in my hair
Where scoured orange porchlights
Light my quick steps away
from his Grey Goose bottle eyes.
Shaking my hands like sand, or maybe beans.
all fear sounds the same like “Where is Dylan?”
in nervous vibrato through the
carpet on the stairs.
Outside, street lights scrape my eyelids to a blur
I’m a meteorite still whole after Ozone’s touch
I see the music of headlights as
cars, trucks, a 1986 cherry red Volvo slides by me,
the only music that night.
I see the Allen family’s house
right next to the Muggle Lane street sign
Waning breath and rainy steps
carry me to the corner
Where jazzy headlights melt down the rain on Reserve.
I fell through the earth
and the obese night
soaks down to my ankles
I can’t see much more than my hands.
Eyes blurred with dissociation
are linoleum steamed by showers at home.
Jazzy headlights sing past
the dim streetlight on the corner
of Majestic and Expressway.