That time when I moved to a place
where everything gets covered in snow.

A place where everything hides in hibernation for six long months.

A place where the wind roars above like thunder in the sky
and the rocks peer down from spired kingdoms.

A place where trees like soldiers,
or perhaps silent spirits,
welcome you into their secret realm
and want only your heart
in trade for their protection. 

The future is knocking!
but only strangers knock.
Or someone you met a few times at a bar
but that’s definitely not your best friend.

And if you open that door an inch
you’ll be flat on your ass.
Stick-figure body in a pile, crushed
by every escape route you drew
that turned into scribbles instead
because a scribble is a line with too much energy to stand still. And that’s you.

A mess. 

But a flat line is for when you’re dead.
Like the curls in your hair fell and let go of every secret you ever kept
and I’m not letting the future win with a shitty iron.

So I’m picking up every curl, every luscious, infinite eight and,
with my door wide open, charging.
Because as Buddy Wakefield says,
“…the future doesn't want you…that means it dies…”
bent out of shape, flat as a history timeline
And I’m writing this story book bitch, one scribble at a time.

Reality—or painted air.

Every now and then you catch a drip running
down the wall.

"If you run fast enough you'll catch him!"
and they warn of wax wings though still try.

But I
already caught him.
And that's
why you love me.

Exhaling reality as we speak
—swaddling you in yellows—
—caressing you in reds—
—and turning your tears from pale blue to indigo—
till we are soaked in color and
all that was
is gone.

So far gone
you forgot it ever was.

Tell me about the year that took 34.

Your adventure that ate reality
and spat out a diamond.

Tell me about sliding down its gullet as it swallowed you whole,
And how you embraced each wave as it
smoothed your mind.

Now, times change, and circles go round.
This city is a Queen and you're here to see her shine!

—Or whatever the word is, details aren't important—
Family brought you here, but this city has potential.