My obsession with self awareness
isn’t bright enough to light up the dark room
I seem to be locked in.
Wait
there is no key.
because
there’s no keyhole
no one can see in
except through this little window
[here]: hello.
But the rarity of clarity
is somewhat slight
and far between.
I once thought
(it arrived in my head
again
yesterday)
I had to paint a certain way
and not to let my art hang crookedly
unless by design
so that others felt comfortable
by its quirky display.
The gallery you see as me
is just the front room
attached
to a speakeasy.
Do you know the code
to get in
all the syllables
to say?
I sat behind the wheel
of my car tonight
as it slid down an icy hill
and remembered for a second
the Chicago snow as a storm raged
over the Great lake.
I had stepped onto pavement
with running shoes too tight
because of much-needed wool socks
and my heart had pounded my chest,
my feet had pounded the ground,
I had pounded out any feelings:
I, too, must be lost.
I thought
as I slowed to a stop:
Are we all living within
the sidewalk cracks?
Sometimes birthing
green life
and sometimes we catch it
with our toe
only to trip
and fall.
