accumulations.

january's porcelain-white rays of sun
chips at wafers of watery ice
sliding like glaciers
over opaque windowpanes.

involuntary shivers, stuffed in slippers
cocooned in fuzzy blankets
surrounded by paint chipped radiators
crackling under the pressure to deliver.

i'm ruminating too long
on the tragedies of a boy
who died in an abandoned bus
surrounded by the unforgiving, heartwrenching
taiga of alaska.

we were looking for the same thing.

but i know the numbing effect
of even 2 or 3 years on our convictions,
our passions. our stark abilities
to resist the current begin to soften
& lose the lines of definition.
time's waters wear out our edges.

call it foolish or beautiful,
i know it's been lost, swept away or worn out:
the foolhardy, the awe-inspiring,
idiotically outrageous ability

to live out entirely what i believe.



...


i look around me and i want to pack everything up in boxes. i want to put the couches on the curb, the chairs on craigslist. i want to sell the car and store the documents and cancel the insurance. i want to cash in the savings account, drop boxes off at goodwill, and burn the rest. i am too tethered to these silly possessions, to these inaccurate, stuffy definitions of self. the idea/the tendency/the call to Go never fades, but remains so vague. i realize it's probably not normal, and it gets amplified in times of frustration, but i still don't know what it means. is it me, or is it God?

i want to show that i mean it.