"I'm only human..."
Plays on a clock radio
I am 9 years old.
Lying on a floor
Watching the radio light
Red dot in the dark.
Nothing happening
Such a vivid memory
it was, nonetheless.
And that's all life is
Just tiny nothing moments
Full of everything.
The veil separating
Ordinary life and reality
Wears thin, I think
Sometime around November
When the dark expands
And moves through us.
We see more of the possibilities
Like seeing a mirrored reflection
Of a another mirror
Where each echoed picture
Is just a little different.
Could haves.
Could be.
Regrets.
Potential.
Memory's chain
Shiny, the part
Held now
Yesterday breakfast
A movie, a book.
A bad day at work.
The news.
Rusty, though, the end
Left dragging
Through the fog at night
Names and years.
Faulty snapshots
Of a bridge
After a flood.
I revisit the vivid
Untarnished dream links
(between peeling faces
From a yearbook)
And small sections
Of regret
That will never break down
Under the elements
Of time and change.
Tonight I sat with my beer
In the dark, following my chain
Backwards, to the bridge
The new bridge over the
Yakima, a No Trespassing notice
To their backs
Kids,
Shining amid rust.
Most of my misery
Stems from the idea
That another human being
Can somehow fix
What is happening
In my head.
When I know they can't.
Fact is, that belief
Makes it worse.
Alcohol doesn't fix it, either.
Writing about it
Doesn't fix it, either.
Nothing fucking fixes me
The end.
It's past 4am
On a night where I swore
I'd get at least
6 hours
But I've only got
5 hours left
And I'm still
Googling
Googling
Googling
Names and videos
How-to's
Old Myspace pages
Obits and old addresses
Other people's reviews
Of hikes, shops, dives
In other states
I'm too aware
Of how stationary I've become
Also, it's almost 5am now
So that's 4.
4 hours left and then I'm having
Mimosas for breakfast.
Happy birthday, me.
Last year of your 30s.
Here's hoping it's your last
Stationary year.