Exhaust Fumes

A memory of a feeling.

I’d like to think

While I’m dreaming

It’ll be something like

Hot gluing

The pieces back into place.

But instead

It’s car exhaust fumes

In the winter,

Fogging up the works,

Always blocking the view.

 

Always is

A funny thing.

It disappears
Just as easily

As it is uttered,

But we never think

That it can’t go on

Like this.

 

And I don’t know

If I love anything

As much as

I love

Watching people

Eat.

Like that’s

The happiest

We’re ever gonna

Get.

 

My foot is tapping

But I don’t even notice

And maybe I should.

I could use

The encouragement,

Could use

The beat

To move to.

But it’s the thousandth time

I’ve heard that song

On the radio.

 

 

And I can’t write

Unless I’m a bit

On the sad side

So sometimes I don’t let myself

Love anything too much.

 

Now I’m tired.

 

Reviews

[Briana O'Connor]

Very interesting weaving of thought. I felt as if you were conducting a train of thought stuck in your mind. Thank you for sharing.

[wordman]

well you painted a vivid picture here,a great write