return to me

they were grinning like the rain, each footfall

hits in the crowd with a subtle two-step beat

a bit of a drag on the right, but the white noise hides it.

Everything a perfectly panned shot, narrated

quietly to myself.

In a jacket, which I have been told

is very Wes Anderson. I have just enough yellow to be indie.

Every day is a planned script.

Every day is a short film I will never shoot

for anyone but myself and God

Advertisements

april of last semester

if we loved the way that we were told to –

following that film mirror perfectly

 – you be strange enchanted, I, glowing naive,

cut the scenes with screams and yells

frustration exhaustion anger bitterness

all the days we can’t make eye contact.

would then that idol, effigy

the standard become the norm?