Six Months Prior

Trianglular sun glimmers in
her raindrop eyes.
Circular parking spots
with zigzap limits:
busses, cars, and trains,
the miles of nothing
but the shine of her smile
on each billboard we pass.
I didn't pack my heart;
he's too clunky and
it costs extra to ship
something fragile.
He's in a sraight jacket
back east: blindfolded.
He waits for my slow
brain to understand,
but Brain's preoccupied
by a cardboard stage,
broken bass strings,
unnatural screams,
conffetti guitars,
blood soaked notes,
spaceships with hands
(or maybe just vans).
Until October
or six month prior,
in a state near home
and totally alien.
She is outside,
but very much in.
Heart breaks free,
jumps a carrier pigeon.
He slides between
the hollow bars of my ribcage.
He shoots a loud,
frantic message to Brain.
The lightbulb:
yellow like that triangular sun.
She is a literal impression.
Tomorow will be bright for a rainy day.

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^ Not a homework assignment. ^

I couldn't tell you where this came from or what it's about. It's strange. The lines just came to me oddly. I'm not sure why the speaker is male, but I've never written a poem from a male view before...I don't think. So, yeah, don't read into it because it has only vague meaning, even to me. It was just silly and fun to write. It obviously relates somehow to music/tour and I guess I was thinking about the Manchester/Kevin/Brand New tour when I wrote it. Aside from that, it's up in the air.


We were made to fuck each other one way or another. Iron And Wine Everything On The Ground (Lilith's Song)