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.