poetry

Fumbling

he arrives at the station. coins spill out of his pockets in the same way his spaghetti did last night. well, it was writhing in the pot like angry Medusa.

today the Lego’s in his head slipped away. it happened to be the important bricks that were missing.

he wishes for the days when he’d lie under the autumn trees with his army of friends. they read poetry until it soaks into their throats and sunlight digs through clouds of marijuana, it hangs in the air like dough. her could still smell Jennifer, see her laughter and feel her wild tattoos spilling over him. t-shirts were an array of metal bands. 21st century postage stamps, if you had heard the sweet ferocity you’d understand their journey. but that’s not what they spoke about…

beer cans spread in between the jokes they injected and gestures narrating the wind. while getting jostled with the cattle on the bus, he closed his eyes just for a second, and could feel himself there again. he could feel laughter tickle his feet and see the bronze ghost dancing in the bottle of brandy.

memories are the elixir of life. they remind us that there is something more to this muddy mayhem we collect under our shoes. if you behind to close your eyes long enough, you will learn to listen to the strumming of your story. its buried somewhere in your head. its like finding that creased letter you’ve lost for years. you scan the words and the image gets etched in your head.

…then there was that woman the other day she showed me a smile she had tucked away from the rain. it was just for 5 seconds,that was all i needed.

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