so open you can smell the grass you were fucking on that summer?
The one that stuck to the back of your sweaty knees and you had little marks
like blades on your back.
So funny and mysterious, you laughed, skin like rubber, at the natural world.
What do children on the subway feel like?
They sit backwards on the seat
and look out the window at mostly darkness
and they appear fine with this darkness,
because sometimes there is light and people and rats.
I know because they scream these things as they see them.
What would you call me if I also did this?
To not have to think before opening up your palms
to catch whatever may be falling in front of you?
Catching something may be like signing a contract
so I just let it fall away,
the more I regret the slower and more beautiful the memory of the fall becomes.
Light up with it when I feel the most pain.
Memories making sense of why
my hands don't work.
We all show up with ghosts.
Interpretations are currency.
I am betting in the millions now.