Looking past Looking at

The sky is Purple
and I'm noticing the trees on this horizon
get taller every year
though they're still small enough to see
the lightening behind 'em
and lights float like a ghost across the water
above 'em
The fog horn is a muffled toot now
and somewhere in the alley
there's a clicking like a horse drawn carriage.

I think it might always be like this
the trees will just get taller
and the water will get more polluted
and the economy will invent new bubbles to pop
and I will just drift,
in and out of; projects, jobs,
and touch and go romances
thinking I'm learning lessons

My delirious youth will only be perpetuated
by the delusion that I'm changing
when our contexts are really just circumstantial
and their rearrangement is purely superficial
I should focus instead on transcendental moments

Letting my legs get wet
trying to focus on the droplets set
in front of the trees' black silhouettes

Staring at the city on the hill,
looking so small, from the waters of Lake Superior
dancing in my underwear drunk off my ass
arranging splashes to the dubstep coming from the beach
wondering if I should feel cold yet
but focused instead on the light show
projected on the surface
Waking up, just as he moves closer
looking sleepily into his eyes
for just a moment
before crooning
my neck to his face
to feel the familiar burn from his five a.m. shadow
for the last time



These things are all the same but different
The colors still haven't ran together yet.