Beautiful Trauma

Grid of wooden slats,

Oddly translucent vinyl roofs.

My open window.

Lol I’m thinking about someone again!

Willpower, urges, control, planning.

I don’t want to fuck a stranger

I want to fuck— I don’t think

I will. It’s raining on the covered

Section of our back patio

And I love the sounds.

My eyes still sore with sleep.

Small feet, a squirrel, its blurry

Shadow. The sight was wonderful,

First upright then reversed.

Two days in a row I pulled the Chariot

And I know what I’m supposed to feel

but I don’t think I will.

I promised not to talk

About the sky but it was gorgeous.

The single cloud streak, power lines, pieces.

I won’t talk about it.

No one will believe me

So I return to my dream

Of sitting alone in the grass.

Can’t we be simple this once?

The river running, words

Running but the sky in

Pieces. I can’t remember

Pink, there is just an empty

Awe. What happened to me?

I know it doesn’t matter but

I try to remember everything.

I try to make my dream realm

sharp as blades, green and vivid,

dewy pink in waking hours.