Apologies to Nujabes

The moon is a singing bowl

I can feel its vibrations on my eyes.

I can feel how the clouds move.

But my steady breath is a night mist avalanche

against red checkered scarf,

The air crisp around each drop

on my tan sweater

Bar sign blue hat droops in my hair

Where scoured orange porchlights

Light my quick steps away

from his Grey Goose bottle eyes.

Shaking my hands like sand, or maybe beans.

all fear sounds the same like “Where is Dylan?”

in nervous vibrato through the

carpet on the stairs.

Outside, street lights scrape my eyelids to a blur

I’m a meteorite still whole after Ozone’s touch

I see the music of headlights as

cars, trucks, a 1986 cherry red Volvo slides by me,

the only music that night.

I see the Allen family’s house

right next to the Muggle Lane street sign

Waning breath and rainy steps

carry me to the corner

Where jazzy headlights melt down the rain on Reserve.

I fell through the earth

and the obese night

soaks down to my ankles

I can’t see much more than my hands.

Eyes blurred with dissociation

are linoleum steamed by showers at home.

Jazzy headlights sing past

the dim streetlight on the corner

of Majestic and Expressway.