He’s colored cool and I’m flying high,
Flicking robins like I don’t hear
Ten-year-ago Mom crying over broken eggs.
I land somewhere next to him
Out of breath and wheezing
And my ears go red then deaf
When the train shouts across the river.
Ten minutes and an American Spirit later
I'm buzzing like the branches
And feel my fingernails wake.
We're on the right side of long days
And dead skin don't matter
When there's dirt to be dealt
And rocks to be kicked.
I wonder if he tastes like the way
I think I taste like—
Poprocks + Coke
And metallic pangs of adrenaline.
He hasn't said a word and I've said less—
Teeth marks for taste buds.
It’s the kind of day when nature speaks up.
Flutterbees nudge limbs locked in laconic stalemates.
The kind of day when you think you can fathom
That which you could not seven sleepless nights ago.
When you’re not bullshitting this time, guys.
You really can see our Marble’s blue bends
As you crane your neck something awful.
My neck burns to the tune of the Sun’s bursts.
But I don’t worry myself with distance anymore.
Blue jays rock in trees higher than their octaves,
A humming habberdash He mimics
With a perfunctory grace.
My mockingbird is better than your mockingbird.
But he’ll never know.
And that’s OK.