6/19/19

what runs around in my head

is not an image

you have been hiding with words

between the spoke of my bike

and a square yawn from my mouth

there is a fog across the bridge today

and it masks the tallest buildings

you stare at me from behind the camera

I can't move

water pours out from the old factory

windows without glass

looks like people still live there

when you are not watching

I let my knees bend into the grass

and I sink my head down

into a muddled light

dust flies through my hair

a clap of lightning

and everything dims

like at the end of a movie

a boyish figure

walks out from behind a curtain

and looks for a seat

he walks to the front row

and sits in front of a big screen

he leans his head back like a small fish

and starts to sing

"beautiful, young ism

some muse, some cinema

my pink umbrella

shot under your bicycle

water, say... ISM

intelligent love

some book, some subway

that pink umbrella

shot under your feeling"

I hear you from above me

tracing my body with your feet

your toe digs into my head

and I squint

the harder you push

the brighter the light gets

I'm blind

I've passed out on the lawn

if I manage to get up

there will be grass stains on my

knees, on my forehead

what color will my eyes be

green