Shifting into Blue.

Shifting into blue, something new, lost a screw.
A self untrue, designed in traces of snow,
melting, time passing through me and into you.

Memento of mind, my wandering star has wandered too far.
Half-way up the way down, damn regret, this too I forget,
drawn into tea leaf prophecies but scraped my knee on what I didn’t see,
out beyond me.

This is a land I cannot stand, legless, lost and lonely,
shy away from that outstretched hand.
Show me the fit, how to open what has been shut,
the cut and drape of instinct that follows wherever we go.

Secluded, unnatural places, minus a bit more reason,
subject subtraction, losing my grip, no more first steps -
simply smaller steps, circles of enclosure as my hands go numb.

Up a gear, and into overdrive, a beat on constant repeat
shakes the silver dollar off my tongue, and I exhale.
Enforce each step back, laying down in a dark playground,
nights gone by as I watch the sky swirl,
a torch carried over the horizon, I saw a hand print in the clouds.

Come downs, unfazed by each phase, the sum more than the separation,
coming to, charming mornings in an empty bar,
come uncertain discus thrower, just a little farther now,
land closer to my feet -
sometimes it’s knowing what to step over, stops you falling through the cracks

Warrior, ashamed of her dirty nails, afraid of your scales.
Fire me up, plant a bullet in the garden
and bury the sounds which jump-start my heart.
Bereft, in bondage, a body too close for comfort,
not quiet in a good night but singing sounds invisible and true,
bent backwards, broken fingers picking up my get out of jail free card -

I’ve come this far,
ever curse the next verse but still this flower blooms,
woken with wet cheeks, winter settled in my toes.
In the recollected library I find a new book,
one I’d full forsaken for the light of day but now pick up.
I thumb through old skins, tired lust, the scent of dust.
I wonder what they’d feel like today,
now that the rains have passed
and there are so many more questions unasked.

Apple mint under my pillow, dreams in grey-scale but other senses
sweating out each minute, replete, overloaded.
I take sullen sips from a cup of earth
as I burn photos I wish I never took.
Too many restless tasks line the dinner table,
a place for thoughtless thoughts,
things to do to enter this world again,
sundry lists to tick (me) off:

Missing keys
Undone shoelaces
Dirty glasses
Well-worn pairs of wings

And as I lay me down to sleep
I pray the power to turn over another leaf -
Taking a shot at a new day, beyond the finish line,
my nowhere land,
full of quicksand but where I stand.