Journal 2

The Next Thing Always Belongs

A cigarette burns out like a smile fading to tears.
A squirrel argues with a blue jay. They are discussing timeshares. Once I mistook a stranger’s hand for my fathers. I was ten. My face Burned red like a chili pepper. Aloe vera means ‘true aloe.’  Oatmeal Swallows a spoon like paddock mud grips the heel of an old man’s Boot. The moon is a sliver of bone, the sky cut open like flesh,
Who knew cliches were so important?
You cannot sell my sister’s things. That is dead.
I want to be softened by Sandpaper palms.
I wish loneliness wasn’t a candle burnt to the quick.
One c
icada begins the anthem of spring. Soon there is a symphony. Ostrich egg omelets will feed a small army of beloved savages.
An ace is brought to life like a heartbeat. There has been talk of Building a wall with a prison on either side.
Platitudes are broken sea shells, unimportant and lacking in Substance. Why are socks like jilted lovers? He keeps a rainbow of Broken glass. Jagged little jewels arranged atop the transom.
My n
iece tilts her head like a sparrow. “Church,” she chirps.
His mind is a room without windows and only one trap door.
 I can’t stop remembering a voice like gravel and honey.
My thumb is an arrow warped by a lifetime of faithful service. A woman, man, and child hop puddles. Rain paints hopscotch on the Sidewalk.My lover writes a letter. He addresses it to Anais Nin and Delivers it in person. Crickets string their violins. Floating lanterns Flicker a prelude. Find the clues left out like milk set on the kitchen Counter the night before.