Beach Baby

maybe what i need is fewer skies and dim the corners, whistle a soft tune over and over, i'll whistle it back to you. and you will wonder where i learned such sly glances, you will ask about the day my eyes turned grey.

just now another flash snowfall whipped past a few feet out, but i'm inside, i am buried. somehow the sun remained, and pushed away the heavy flakes, the sun the sun the sun, that sun. and look, it's 4 pm on sunday, oh thank god, and the sun still around the corner. later let the streetlights simmer and they will create a stage upon the road, each passing car timed, everything is perfectly mended and waiting, a set. just waiting for the cues, under sandy streams of white.

i am trailing and unfocused, thinking about your cheeks do i have any cash and what day is it today. what do i have to do tomorrow, nothing really, if i put it in simple terms. my clean sheets already smell like oranges, with blackberry stains. i pull everything in, tease it all closer, it's much nicer in here. my body feels heavy, my limbs, these limbs are not mine. i am nowhere to be found, i am the lady made of bricks. most of all i wonder when will i run

i collide with sunday, Existential Crisis Day. the day she grew new skin. and then later in the kitchen, drinking, putting away clean dishes, we're on the floor.