lost cause

***

these days,
i know for certain that i am made out of things like
black lace, and burnished dragonfly wings, and thin tangled chains
so thin and tangled, they tell me It's Alright, Don't Try, You'll Never Make the Same Mistake
and i believe them, and leave them as they are
these days,
i listen to the wind, and it tells me that i am made of a million tiny freckles
and thousands of gossamer stray hairs that refuse to sit straight,
like thoughts

these days,
i am watches that don't work and frayed shoelaces to hold places
i am every morning tea leaves lining my eyelids and coffee beans combed through
my eyelashes but still thirsty, despite every dirty cup and tired mug,
still thirsty to turn these things into crow's wings
still thirsty to grow my hair like raucous ravens
and smooth the bones under my skin with the feathers from my brain
that rustle soft like hops and dips of a satin sure murder of birds

i am nothing but unnumbered pieces, each
singing to me, Love Grows Under a Stone/Perfume and French Cologne
these days,
i sit
so still
dreaming of ghosts,
dreaming of gods,
dreaming of a land of a million tiny freckles and wings
and sweet skin warmed by substitute suns.

***