wph

I am someone who is waiting on a dock in the middle of the night. There is a gross, green electric light shining on me. There is something out in the waves. 

Old shadows break in the brand new walls 

The dirt projected by the naked winter giants of trees 

Stains bare wooden flesh with familiar rusty bandages 

Kid sitting at the edge of a dock.

Legs swinging in free fall.

Wood scrapes into his hands.

He thinks that the stars can talk to him.

Midwestern night.

There’s something out in the fields,

Something banging on the roof.

Fresh vomit in the toilet.

The sink is running, so you can’t

Hear your own heavy breathing.

There was a collapsed star.

There was light at the very end of a cave.

There was lightning that struck a tree.

There was a baby born

With a slightly bigger skull, one day.

The humans are out there taking their bows in the light where the world can see.

We are piled up, 

cold and immobile on the floor as the green room light fills