me and the taxi driversi am waiting; on a benchMore Like This
and it's dark or at the least
dusky and graying.
and it is me; me and
the taxi drivers, who have
asked me multiple times
if i need a ride.
i don't. i don't really need
anything, so i sit and listen
to them talk and breathe in
and it is me; me and the
taxi drivers, and i am waiting.
And by their hands shall you know themi.More Like This
His long fingers taper like pale candles
between the thick swell of each joint,
rounded marbles he can’t lose with weight,
like the purple-scarred skin around his stomach
leftover from a year of living on crackers and coffee;
the bass guitar calluses on numbed fingertips
will also never leave him,
like the panic attacks and Xanax
he collected after he OD’d on heroin,
going heartbeatless, belly up in a hospital bed
while they pumped his veins with activated charcoal.
Like sausage links, his square-tip digits
are not much longer than my own,
but larger, like the man himself --
eyes seeing just over the top of my head,
but arms too thick to wrap my small hands around,
arms that once enveloped my shaking shoulders
when he had to leave me on the dorm lawn;
the same arms that did not try to hold on
when I left him for the last time.
Bear paws that can hide mine in the palms,
dorsal sides dark-haired, a few scars
from oven doors and dull knives
staining the light brown
i can seeI don’t know what it is,More Like This
the way I see the world.
I know it’s a unique vision
but that there are others like me
we look out
and it’s like we’re hovering
watching people breathe
with a perspective that seems too far removed
and withdrawn to be accurate.
with the clarity of truth
but it’s not the kind of clear
that you see looking through a window.
it’s like staring
everything has crystalline facets
sharp, defined edges
sometimes I feel as though
I could stretch out my hands
but still never come close
to brushing the world with my fingertips
because that’s not who I am.
I’m the shadow
I know and understand
but seldom interact with that which I see,
for I am so detached
from what is real.
My eyes are reserved for that duty
of watching the world
and then telling you
what it is I really see,