back to dog/melancholy, fever, thoughts splatter

this is already over the top way too much before it can even work itself out there's no time there's just no time, i'm in too many cars again and looking out the window wishing they would roll it down just enough to get my nose out so i can really enjoy this city.  there are so many things i miss, and so many things i can't smell from in here.  but, there is that, and there is that other that, and then there are also those and those and they all look so inviting, but oh, nothing plays itself out very well on the stage of everyday experience, but maybe that was just august, and maybe august is already well over, and that's just fine.

i don't think it has to be much more complicated than it already is, i don't know if can be, and i'm pretty sure none of those things will happen in the world, they were like blowing thoughts into soap bubbles, they shine in the sun and look like something innocent and lost, and they go away, they don't even explode, it's much softer than that, and i'm left here wondering why my tongue doesn't work in these kinds of situations, but maybe i'm not supposed to speak very well, not here, because maybe i'm not supposed to speak at all, so i'm only going to try it with those who know the language, and aren't looking for my ghost.  i'm guilty as anyone of that, it's part of my melancholy nature.

but i will say this.  at the end of the day, there are more cards running through my fingers than i can count, and far too many to keep track of, and the thing that started all this turned out to be truer than they've ever been with me, and accurate like a bow and arrow, so.  everyone has questions and needs something from me, and my fever is high and there is a place in my wrist that broke when i was getting myself together and forgot to finish getting myself together, so, like i do, i show up at the door with my belt only half on and sweat running down my back, and i'm just so not myself at all.  this is not a problem, i just have to learn how to walk again, but that's all familiar ground, except the ground itself is not so familiar.

it doesn't have the traces of the things i lost anymore, it's all very new, and i always tell myself that if i see the city i live in like a visitor, i will love it again.  and that happens.  but it's all strange again, and that's the part that makes me trip, trying to pretend like i know what i'm doing, when i'm really hoping the shifting maps in my head will get me to the next place on time.  and my sense of smell is coming back, and this is when i fall in love with you all over again, this desert that doesn't want me dead, this brick that's not trying to cut open my soft spots, and these rocks that hold something i can't even speak of (hint: beauty, truth, and mirrored reflections of everything in our very own bones).

i don't know if it will come back, but right now i'm not so sure i'm sad it's gone, because i really don't remember the smell at all, just ghosts of smells that made me crazy too deep into the night to turn back, too late to tell myself this wasn't at all important and i would sleep without falling into other worlds.


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