Untitled #9

They say we look alike
And that we have since we were
Dressed by their worn hands

I've lost the ability to see colors
Like their red blush
And blue soul-less expressions
As they pull me in
Again and again

The resemblances soon dissolve
As I tip my head under the faucet
And strain out the ink from my veins

I then spend my afternoons sitting
In sand
Smiling at the runners
Actively breathing in salt
They change from week to week
While I catch up on assigned work

At night,
I leisurely hide in the basement
Or on the small,
Single square
Outside my guestroom window
Inhaling smoke and watching the crystals blink
On the surface

The steady sound continuing to swell in my chest
A standard pulse across the other levels
Carved from over-priced materials
Found buried beneath each mound
Close to the cracked remains of seeds
Sprouted and forgotten

I relate until she rings the tacky front porch dinner bell
Explained to me as a necessary purchase
We all need to know what time is coming

- C.W.