Saw two pigeons
fighting over the concrete sky.
Don’t they know it’s limitless?

When time slows
spirits drain
and it feels like life
will never be the same,
I cling to you.
Old oasis you.
With your promises
of sickness soothed
by pheremones
and spirits moved.
But you’re just an illusion.
A super, sweet illusion.
That will never be mine.
Not in this time,
when time slows.

Comfort place bursting left.
Reappearing acquainted mess.
Old, red passive breath,
swallowed to unhinging nest.

Forgive ourselves
let failures melt
to rest where they belong.
Collect ourselves
with water smelt
to wear the frozen pond.

The dusty, wood-paneled room
holds more darkness than light.
Bright bodies rushing
to casually wait.
Every body hoping they’ll get
what the body next to them wants.
An atmosphere begging
for condescension and fronts.
But there’s a feeling in the air
of communal desperation.
Each body finding solace
in others who’ve stepped away from the crowd.