bay hound,

hound bay.

bellow

to the

sorrowful

holiday.

overachiever,

rattling weather.

a simple blue sky

more beautiful then you

or them or i...

flying.

the rafters come lower.

the town is over dressed

in out of towners

and one lone dog

cries to the loners.

alone at Ihop

eavesdropping

numb stare of eyes

the blue of pavement, flecked

maple syrup on my elbows

elbows on the table

conversations like birds

snickering around me

"he was the one with the swollen throat... throat cancer i think.. smoking."

that's an elderly man. sing songy.

"my defects... well i haven't gotten there yet."

a young man. pride.

and then i hide my phone in my lap and play tetris

i pretend to be texting

a black haired boy across the aisle is snapping away at his video game.

not hiding. greasy haired. all in black. not hiding.

i contemplate bulimia.

but i'm already attached to my swelling belly.

i give up.

i twitch and tick. I mind less and less.

why does age take such caring, such pretense away?

screw it, i think. i'm interesting to watch.

i'm hiding and i fit in,

i fit into my hiding place.

there are too many poems in my heart

they waste my words on you

they make me alone

sugarless tracks in the snow

dragging my eyes

across bright burning cold.

i saw what i wanted to see

until the truth saw me.