suck on these shades

it's morning in america they'd say
big blinding westbound sun strikes
your eye and it's a four hour backup
on the howard franklin. late for work again.
shoulda bought them raybans or work
in the other direction.

speaking of weather, i stayed in
while glaciers rained over
the southeast, while
 the north sun's corolla
spun magnetics into aurorae
yellow and blue as the bruise on my thigh.

it's an odd fact, all things are connected
all fish in school turn simultaneously
birds in flock land in the same tree
i get high and you see in me
dark matter the ocean in we

odd because we don't know
that we know, sitting in caves
singing plato and watts and ebony faves
off key and white bready
on key and quite heady
hosannahs that bring us here with a wave.

it's never like that

talking in third person, she didn't wait
for the correlations to be added up.
the scene called for action so she drove her car
into the pond in the flood. it was not the right choice.

many layers of years later
the memory unfolds above the surface
reflects in her shelter, shimmery and vague
blending with faces of the drowned
covering the faces of the dead.

she tries to put her finger
on a single thing, a crux she missed-
the smell of weed in the guest room
the thank you never written
lamented lust after late night battles, well fought- she
doesn't know what
 has landed her in the sorry state.
but sorry she is, her eyes
 are radishes stuffed
into macaroni shells, her brows spell tragic.
she sees herself in the mirror, sternly mimes at the reflection
 the- accepted-if -confronted -excuse
" i didn't mean anything by it. let's plan something soon, call me"
she grins,  maniacal eyed. hits unfriend.
steps into the shower