Something
Didn’t the computer know this is not english we are speaking it wasn’t even a language.
We are, we are all standing next to a burning house that is not our own and we can’t see that the clothes have all been worn and everything is wrinkled.
There is a town in our eyes, one that only makes sense in the dark when the lights are off...
I fell asleep at the wheel of fortune and never got my prize.
Wasn’t I supposed to get free underwear that someone donated after buying it on sale at Walmart?
Wasn’t there something something in the way you moved in and out of that parking spot until your head stopped spinning, using your mother’s handicap sticker so you didn’t have to walk so much?
Wasn’t something supposed to add up to nothing?
Where did we all find our broken bottle tops flying in the wind next to a grocery bag with nothing in it?
There is something, something to be said about the dog you find that has a home but doesn’t remember where it is.
And the feet that don’t know where a safe place to walk is.
And the fire, that is in your soul, how it only unleashes when you have finally said goodbye.
Something is said and it is not heard, even the whispers are louder than the song.
The music is in another room but I can taste your strawberry lip gloss while you sing along with the guitar.
There are books about this and people have had conversations as well about the images you don’t see in the mirror, the ones that you refuse to look at.
I’m having an epiphany, an aha moment, do you want to join me?
We can be this together, transformed and changed and inspired by the wind.
What does the mad man standing at the corner near the 7-11 say out loud than makes sense to you? Why are you so intent on not listening?
There is something striking about the rice in this burrito bowl and the chicken in this curry.
Taste is a miracle in and of itself, where did it come from? I can taste you.
We are sitting together on the front step and I said a bad thing, something about something else.
You weren’t listening, so does it matter?
It’s
Let the Uber driver pick the music, we pick the destination, let’s ride this out and see where it takes us.
When we get to the building with the yellow walls, you and I know both know there is something that needs to be said.
There are no paintings hanging and we are standing between closed windows.
It’s hard to breathe the air in an empty room without any furniture.
We say a thing, and we do that thing, and something happens.
It’s here, I say, I think this is the place that looks like death.
And you whisper something in my ear about not needing an ending to
nina