I lost myself several times along the way

Sitting here on the treetops
 I fold into myself
Twist out, fate is diagonal 
Every fate is possible


I hear the sounds repeating
Can't translate the chatter
When they scream it means they're enjoying it

Sorry I was on the wrong floor all-together
Where was the dream pulsing through me
Why am I still here writing poetry
 Don't fall asleep inside your fantasy

rewired to function in society
Purchase fold up chairs with my credit card
smack myself in the forehead for believing it was real

Show time

I wasn't too excited about the cinema choices anyway. I have been disappointed in myself because I watch and don't create. I consume and don't produce why should I get excited about someone else's imagination. We walked along to the cinemahouse passing crowded restaurants, I saw the short collared shirts and lip gloss. What was the attire that was required? I looked in at the grey lights. I considered that even if I was wealthy I would still lack class and wouldn't know what I was supposed to wear or order or why. Around the block was a gathering crowd, not for the show but Chinese food, I saw the moo shu through the glass. We should go there sometime she said. No, I don't like Chinese food, why wait for Chinese food? I picture myself waiting to be seated, browsing the menu ordering a hundred other idiots doing the same. I had just decided I didn't like Chinese food actually. Ok, go back she replied. You don't want to see the movie? I asked, jokingly, trying to call her bluff. No, go home. She was serious. I was the one with the job, with the subway ride and the eerie concern of being stuck in the tin can miles down so I held the purse strings and she had the power to pout. I felt like FDR at times, struggling to stand upright for the good of my people. Struggling to raise the pen.

Back at home I was relieved to have enough wine in the remaining bottles to fill half a glass. Go to the other room, I don't want to look at you! I drank my wine, warm and unconcerned. Just sitting there sifting through myself, changing colors, in pain, stuck in the hours. Would I like to get divorced? No I still remember solitude. I remember the hollow space around me, the large size the small spaces could create. But I could fuck a dozen prostitutes with all the dimensions I have desired if it was just me.  After the act I always found myself contemplating watercolors. It is more fantasy to live in lust then actual satisfaction. Laying down in different colors, in the square. It's the weekend and I still don't care about wrinkles in my shirt or the hard sell. Before going to my room I said, you see a crowd and you want to know what they are doing but I want to do the opposite. I see them waiting and want to run but she wants to know what is it they are waiting for, surely it's worth the wait.