I’m no scientist
but I recognize the girl in the picture.
I’m no senator
but I assume she is a low-flying plane.
I’m no good at math
but I’m sure she’s made of glass.
I’m no fortune teller
but you are standing behind her
with one hand on her shoulder.
I’m no oncologist
I’m like you: the silence
after the wrong person opens a present.

Since it’s my door I’m knocking on
I don’t mind waiting. I am surprised
when someone answers it. Even more
surprised when he yells, go home
it’s Sunday, it’s four in the morning.
I know what time it really is,
though I’m not ready to admit it:
it’s time to retreat into the forest.
The flowers are shaking their heads
like, replaced again, Rod? So soon?
The trees are acting above me
which is fair. The mushrooms hum
a tune. I scratch my butt
then pick up a rock and stare at it.

The traffic tonight is reaching me
in my car. It comes in
through the vents, it turns up
the heat and the static
increases its dissonance
on the radio. Very little
to be said today, wish
I were out of traffic.
Have others experienced this
desire to see the road
as a manila envelope
they can finally tear up?
But look inside first.
Emptiness like that
could fill a room.

I kissed her and could not
understand her mechanics.
My anxiety is a product
of not being good enough
at thinking
or to handle any situation
which is why I’m alone
in the passenger seat of my car
at 2:40 in the morning
just hoping. Please light up
sky please light up.


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