Pooling, Shaking

I've moved from howling at the bottom of a 3am shower, to bouncing up and down in my insomniatic room, to skipping down the morning sidewalk, to, now, wandering around in a bit of shell-shock.

She put her hand on my arm like a bird landing in the ocean and I melted. I hate stories written in the first person. I am everyman.
I am free as deep grass growing on the banks of some steadily noble Kentucky River.
I am a ne'er vanquished castle exquisitely slipping into retirement as a tourists snapshot.
I am the refraction of cruel corporate cinema painfully malnourished by opaque morality.
I am a tendril hair strayed between my eyes by the blowing wind from a high mountain.
I am a wink or a gesture or a non-native tongue unintelligible and trying to express my giddiness and delight that today you decided to wear those tight cute clothes.

Did I tell you about her? Did I tell you that when she kisses me I wishes it were you? Why ask? Who would speak such flying daggers deliberately?

Shit.

I've lost it.

There's darkness underneath the sunshine. The California Sun is shining stern and smoothly through a lurid azul sky, and somewhere below is a sharp and thorny abandoned well in the depressed pocket of some lowly cow pasture. Although the dawn is bright with bushy wakefulness, I sit in the bottom of the well examing tears I assume to be mine, although I've never cried tears like this before. My bloodstream runs cold like the stillborn blue brother I almost ha—

So often we take those closest to us for granted. It's not until they're gone that we recognize how rich they've made our lives. Absent lovers, distant friends, missing family... In addition to this smattering of emotion that I sit in like a soup of my own sour juices, this pool that I float across like a bobbing plastic duck in some dawdling windblown lap relay, there were tangible details to point out as well.

I never would have let myself drag in the creepers of the land on my shoes. That's how I know it was you. And so I pick up the leaf and throw it away in the trashcan in the corner, light incense to combat the smell of you and make up the bed as I never do but today feel I must.

"Stay on your feet, its the place to be" -E.B. White

It has begun.

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