#30

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That day at the
end of September

I look at you and
understand why the
waves do what they do

I then also understand the
silence among the mountains
the leaves
on the brink of decay

it was years ago now
but I still compare
the two color schemes

the oranges and pinks
at eye level

and the dark blues
behind us

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and then it started raining

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Before boarding the plane
my step-dad gave me some sudden advice
“Don’t accept free food samples”
I suppose being poisoned
is a fear that I had yet to acquire

but at last here it is

I sipped from a glass of wine
elegantly placed
between a marble statue and concrete

on the third sip, I found myself upstate
in the closing part of winter

there I was, staring at the ceiling fan
trying to convince the man in the red wool sweater
to paint over
all of the thin black lines
I had painted on their door

gratefully sad

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The more shit that happens,
the stronger (softer) I become.

I have to go take this face mask off
and brush my teeth

remember that it is all
temporary

every interaction
I had with that person
felt like I was cycling
through all of the emotions

every single one
in the speed of light

thrown into black hole,
and shot out of a cannon,

Lines that are reoccuring
written down

Reasonable bounds

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As I was getting dressed this morning,
I started to hate my clothes.

This mustard sweater
just isn’t enough.

It’s pilled,
worn,
and empty of youth.

These sneakers are too small.
And the edgy rip in my jeans has
frayed into a gaping hole,

I need a new wardrobe,
and new way of life,
one that is simple
or
extravagantly elegant.