Thursday, September 10, 2009

Fortnight/Fort Night

For two weeks I was going through a crisis

And I didn’t know it.

And no news team came to write about it.

My own self wouldn’t allow it.

It was as if my brain had a mind of its own

And it told channel 12 to beat it.

I want live and local, brain!

Now's not the time to get vocal, brain.

My brain's mind can't understand

there are moments in life

that can make you feel so undeniably alive.

Don't worry, I don't know what that means either.

But it's like those mornings seeing pale blue

blowing in from over the treeline

winding up on my white paint window sill

a bittersweet tweet reminder that the sun came back

I guess I wasn't sure it would. That morning

the stark taste of summer's last dying breath rolled-in slow, dim

Butterflies from every first day of school in my life came to

carry me to fresh crayola box exceptional essence

with 24 pristine cylinders

waiting to be tarnished by my untamed tentacle fingers

Evidently, that thought gave me enough comfort to let sleep come

Fort building, like a kid.

falling asleep in it.

Even then I hated waking up.

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