Let me out, dark cellar on a blustery sunfull day, where hyacinth buds push up earth, premature bloom and freeze to death before spring, ambulance lights hang within misty air of our breaths after drinking coffee but who is us? I am guarded when I feel so aloof, causing a lonely siren to wail along the corridor, chute down into the purpleblack river, so I do not talk, I fear sudden movements, and desire them all the same. A smile from Oh, from Ma, from Vi, or Val and love the moment, my ruined stomach butterflies. I am dead of tongue, tone deaf, in ponderous pain, and wondering where I can go to find this tornado-root of feeling and confront my whirling self, my inability to adapt to a city of large, jagged by grey winds, feeling the sad isolation of crowds or classrooms, keeping my hand at my side, then forgetting my bike lock combo. Take a lap around th’ physics building, aimless, letting the steam out of my skull – the steam horn that signifies going to/getting off work in the old cartoons and write a list of numbers close to the combo, feeling a guilty thief of my own property, finally clicks — ride off wearing my emotions like a helmet.
Dipping again into the sad inkwell of a flirtation impossible.