anything you can do i can do better
the next morning smelled like burnt popcorn, and the
sky was singing a light drizzle in e minor, so i cozied up to a leather
jacket and headed on down to the coffin nail store with my mind
wrapped quietly around itself like the tail of a cat who’s trying to be coy.
from the bridge the trees had haloes like god had carefully smudged
them into the sky with his thumb before inking in the branches, and i
remembered standing on a stone in those woods protesting with
shadows the moniker of cindy lou hoo, but the cool thing about airports
and cities is that as long as you keep moving, you don’t have to exist.
still, the quiet keeps growing with the graying of the air and i find myself
wondering when you’ll realize that all i wanted was to help you sleep,
and i find myself wishing that the slow fall never had to end in ice, and i
find myself walking through your imaginary streets again, superimposing
my silence on the blankness of the slate.
Cynthia Spencer
