It’s a day where I’m ready to be at home
Move, move, I say, but my bright bright open shutters
and snowflakes say stay, stay
It’s a day where you’re obliged to listen to
whatever 1-2 1-2 1-2-3-4 guitar strings and sad voice
makes you feel a little bit more like the slow deer
that you want to be but are not.
And the tears of a fellow crane
match the powder falling down onto branches
so they look like they are covered in frosting.
It’s another day
And the thoughts that ate your inside and dripped into your veins
along with the sharp pang of whiskey
or just coke
Because sometimes it’s not the Hemingway alcohol that will do anything
for your sad soul.
like a soda, a smile, a bartending friend, a friend needing help
You want anything
You grasp at everything in the hopes that eventually one of those things
will show you why you wake up
roll your sleeves twice
why you laugh
why you smile
why you apologize
why you still have a heart.
But the thoughts do not do that anymore.
The snow is your eyes and the storm means nothing bad.
It’s a day where the light and the bright says yes to your mind
yes you can think.
You can think and no longer fear
the veil and the drip of the dark deep.