May

My stake, my regrets, made
of blood, sweat, and nostalgia, adrenaline
rush/blast from the past
running along
side
the track, cross country
leaves and fall, green golf course grass
cold wind, dead trees, people
everywhere...

Do I go out searching—a past that never was—
or do I let bygones bleed
where they bleed
and the wind on the water take me
where it may?

Fairy Tales Stacked up like Comic Books

I am
the silver lining of the silver screen...
Life, there it is,
there it goes,
whoa...easy
does
'er,
"Flushed with apprehension, struck by fear,
I dashed out of the control..."
Yeah, I wrote that once.
Flemtrails in the cesspool, spinning pretty.
Anger + agony = angorny.
I'm the made-up word they haven't
thought of yet.

Snowhere

Cold, winter,
Middletown, Minnesota, Midwest.
It's evening, the sun's on a short leash.
There's a sharpness in the air,
an almost Roman cleanliness,
Up in the Air and all that jazz.
I know I've written about this before, she's taken
pictures, images—literal photos of something like my childhood.
Nostalgia overload, leading to a false sense of it,
a love there never was,
but was to lose.
She's All-American, all the good things about it,
I can see her through her photos; an experience.
Sparse perceptions of sparsely-mutual experiences,
the richness of her skin hampered by the cold winter...