navel-gazer
home and forward. home and backward. home to a broken polaroid land cam autofocus on the windowsill. home to a snowglobe, water drained out. home to a photo of the City; it rained the day we visited J. Lennon's memorial stone. and it's raining today. home to the river outside, strained thin and brown. home to an opened causeway, to fish moving upstream again. home to a swimming pool outside peppered with algae and raindrops and all opened up like a gaping neon mouth beside oblique angel statues hidden inside vinewalled gazebos. home to old favourites in vhs format on the shelf: charlie's angels, hollow man, deep blue sea. home to oh wait the mountain. home to that other shelf, up there above the city, Indian mt. housing another body of water - the gorge, another gaping neon mouth, ridges adorned with makeshift gravesites, bonfire pits, abandoned refrigerators.
a score of years grow to fruition and summer still comes faster than i expect. soil still malnourished on the sidewalk swelling with dew and dragged-off cigarette butts. the seasons's layered itself in pale green on the outer shell of the city. huffing on pigeon scraps. between cracks and up the spines of buildings. think back. remember twenty-three months ago? --when you used to get synth-twisted by the gravity of a diagonal town and run to his cabin in the rain like a rom-com finale, all unbucked and unbuckled? welcome, hardwood sleep. welcome tea with honey, welcome mouthwash. a couple dozen months backwards and forwards and plugging up the hill, plugging up that hill. Seeking out the good.
a score of years grow to fruition and summer still comes faster than i expect. soil still malnourished on the sidewalk swelling with dew and dragged-off cigarette butts. the seasons's layered itself in pale green on the outer shell of the city. huffing on pigeon scraps. between cracks and up the spines of buildings. think back. remember twenty-three months ago? --when you used to get synth-twisted by the gravity of a diagonal town and run to his cabin in the rain like a rom-com finale, all unbucked and unbuckled? welcome, hardwood sleep. welcome tea with honey, welcome mouthwash. a couple dozen months backwards and forwards and plugging up the hill, plugging up that hill. Seeking out the good.