curiouscurious

I’ll admit I’ve loved some things
deemed less than perfect.
On a patio, pinning flowers to a dress form
while the tide isn’t coming.
Or on a street corner, arms flapping,
with a few crumpled tissues
and a half-peeled orange
until my fingers and hands get blurry.
Nothing is indestructible.
Not the sky,
not the parking lot
it bathes in weird, fluorescent green.
Not that I’m complaining, really,
I’m sure there are a number of different heavens.
We just happened on the one
with corn whisky
and ice cream sandwiches
and christmas lights.
And just when we thought it didn’t get much better,
surprise, a tuba!
Please don’t try to kiss me.
It always takes something terrible to start listening.
In the river,
someone’s built rocks for us to hop across,
perfectly square rocks.
I’m having trouble
with end and beginning,
see, a contradiction is just two things
that don’t live well together.
Every light here has a halo
and it makes you different.