Folding Up The Street

You came to visit, uninvited/unannounced. Slept with your feet under my head on the side of a street in The Mission. I told everyone I’d been camping, which was true, in a way. The tent was shaped like the husk of a cartoon bear. I said it could fit six people. They all stood around it expectantly, skeptics from backpacking trips. There was only room for one. The tent smelled of sour wine. My mother found me sleeping on the street. She folded the street up and brought it back from the west coast to home. You were turning into a little boy but your feet stayed the same size. Your voice was clear when you told her you’d always wanted to meet her. She nodded and did not ask who you were.

A Boat So Big, I Never Find The Water

On five-story boat. A boat with many, many stairs. a boat like the old paper mill on Alcott. it is sunny and swaying. the stairs are almost like ladders. I spend most of my time looking for the people who are in my group. some people I met in Europe last summer are there but I feel embarrassed in front of them and keep hiding when I look out of the round portal doors and in on their on-deck campfire happiness. In my head is an object made of sticks and colorful string. Looking for Justin and Bradley. On a boat so big I can never find the water.

I Could Stay There Forever

feet at the edge of a muddy hill: yellowed grass, big trees, sun-wind.

Music Has Always Been Difficult

At a cabin. Played the piano in a room so slanted it was falling off from the rest of the house, balancing on a railing. I could barely climb my way up and out. The person whose turn it was after me was bigger than me and I was afraid they would knock the room out of the tree/air.

These Things Just Drive Themselves

Next to my parent's house there is an abandoned amusement park. It is spring; raining, drizzly. I walk through the tunnels where the tracks for the rides are. One begins running- a red trolley-type thing that goes around the park. Another starts up and they are nearly involved in a collision. I jump off the track and onto a trolley, next to the driver. Brad is driving, wearing the disguise of one of the workers. He's dropped a cigarette or something and is not too concerned with operating the machinery. I suppose there is a track for a reason.