Sandwiched between many trees,

Built like a fortress on top of  fertile soil, and

                                   Below a crescent moon.

Amidst a crescendo of croissants, lining the sky,

                                                                       lining the display cases, that are flickering.

           All that  sticky glaze, and showmanship is drying out now, under those dying lights.

 backed by a wind that is decaying too, with static hands around it’s neck.

                               It still tastes of honey, though.

somehow, it still tastes of honey.

The dilapidated swimming pool  serves as a soft landing;

                                               A soft opening,

                                                             A plot hole.

A cavernous cadaver, marked with algae and stillness.

The floor on which the elevators  stops and the doors open,

And no one exits,

But I press the buttons to close the doors anyways,

tap tap tap tapping

| >< || >< || >< || >< || >< |

Nothing closes, and I am left  temporarily catching leaves,

and   the seasons along with it .

                                       and a cold along with it,

                                                                             the cold along with it,

all of your unsubscribed emails along with it.

Rocks skipped from the hands of children,

                         Rocks skipped right into the closet.

That collect at the bottom of this pool and so many others, 

and  one day they will be diamonds.

and  one day there will be diamonds.

  There will be blood, and toy cars just like them,

                                                  I just want the doors to close.

                                                    I don’t want to be typecast anymore.

Overlooking this sepia-colored catchall is everything autumn,

                                                                     everything human

                                                                        enduring  artificially.

This sea of shiftlessness,

                    of breaking waves, indolence  and corrosive epitaphs,

                    and festival banners, don’t forget the festival banners.

Crawling with discarded camera reels and whitewashed for sale signs.

                                                                                For sale, forever ago.

                     Having fallen from the sky,

  even these angels are rudimentary,  almost binary in motion.

                     nothing has been updated,

                                                     not the store hours or the out of order signs.

You still get the same channels , too.

                    you’ll need a ladder, too.

             Silver is still the preferred method of payment, but no one remembers exactly how much.

                      We still haven’t run out of titles or catchphrases or places to hide, either.

                                       But you now you have a water tower or a satellite dish, or something else entirely,

Something made of metal, ( Not silver)

            and its not me  or you,  (Not silver)

but its crushing everything, even us.

                                      especially us,

                                                         but not silver.

It at least offers some relief from the sun, though.

It is imbued with your smile, though,

                                                          and some relief from the sun.

Crushing everything below it, everything it fell on top of,

                          Dividing the oceans, and the shattered glass.

        Don’t attempt to clean the mirror, the signatures  smudges have been there far too long, 

                                    –and also, it’s broken.

Both of our names  were written here,

                  this was no bathroom stall,

This was a compendium, 

an arrival,

        an ovation,

and  we had arrived like the proverbial trail of toilet paper stuck to a shoe. 

                  We followed the chemtrails,

                 We followed the monuments, 

                   I followed you into your inbox and  you let me breathe in there under the bright lights for awhile,

                                                                                                                                              forever ago.