Astral Planes and Bloody Knees

I looked up

head tilted back

the weight of summer 

beared down hard 

Warm concrete beneath my feet 

dissected by power lines

my backyard sky glowed blue and pink

the colors viewed

through my merlot haze 

the arrival of June

ushered in beasts

I bloodied both knees 

during Mercury Retrograde

the visit was a brief and painful one

June's departure left raw

tender grief

my papa left too

two days after the summer solstice    

the beasts remained,

The earth kept turning.

The skies look down 

governing us,

maybe they're judging us

laughing at our earthly misadventures

Looking up, it makes me wonder

and looking skyward makes me think of him 

his old man grin

remembering the way light would look on beige carpet floors

entering through the slats of blinds 

and doors 

of his house he no longer occupies 

and never will again 

My slice of sky, a reminder tonight

of the tails and trails of cosmic dust               

I saw while sitting outside 

during a meteor shower 

and called him on his last birthday

last winter.

Now July

I ask of you 

please be kinder 

be more gentle

my knees are healing

but look the way I imagine my heart does now, 

scabbed over 

and wont to crack at any time.

 

Life is about circles, cyclicity, parallels,sameness. So funny that we're always craving new, all the while acting in the same manner as before but in new surroundings. Maybe your surroundings repeat themselves too. So it is within our lives. So many, many lives. Tales. Stories. Experiences. Pain begets more pain and more misunderstanding. 

So what's it's all worth? What does it all mean? It's the flashes in between. Those fleeting moments, they're what keep us all from breaking out of the loop. First love electricity. The vibrations we emit on the first spring day after an icy and heart wrenching winter. The desert sky at night that lacks light pollution, where the stars shine like a sheer curtain has been pulled back to allow them to finally, fully dazzle the way they're meant to. All of these moments and more and the way your eyes and mind work together to keep a visual diary that's on the bookshelf of your brain. 

But your heart keeps making the same mistakes, because it has no partner in crime. 

And for that reason, we'll never stand a chance.

Hey Suburbia

Deep hum of a low flying plane 

against an empty sky,

it's a lovely buzz 

seemingly only heard 

in the backyards of suburbs.

Houses with L shaped pools

2 car garages,

poster covered rooms 

and thumb tack pierced walls.

Quietly opened bedroom windows

let us out

and let in the night

straddling window panes

lit by moon rays and street lights

just to make it to the cul-de-sac.

Clandestine meetings with bad boys 

or girls

sneaking cigarettes 

while heavy handed vodka pours

provided fuel 

for miles 

of youthful mistakes.

Barefoot in a Smiths T-shirt

smelling of menthol smoke

summer night warmth

coming alive while the neighborhood slept.

We were naked in pools

that reflected the moon

crickets sang with the frogs.

we'd sing with them

interrupting their songs

until it was time 

for late night TV

beckoning with open arms

and strobe light shadows against living room walls

nothing  to do except

sleep until noon the next day.

I miss those days of irresponsibility and 

no responsibility

Youth is wasted on the dumb

Sometimes I'll hear that hum

of a low flying plane

and it takes me back.