forgotten zenith

Interlude

Forgotten zenith

The dirt beneath my fingernails clings like you

Frozen beneath the bed of years

Wine surrounds us with laughter following

we smile and dream about the past

and talk about who planted who where

winter felt like a shadow

following us here but never revealed.

Normal people

We sat here like normal do on a Friday. The graveyard’s wind carried us through the pathways of the dead allowing us to enter. The mausoleum’s greeted us one by one acknowledging our little existence after hundreds of years. We wonder if we are disrupting them at peace, keeping a distance from the tombstones and memorials. We wonder if we will ever end up in a place like this and whether we can afford to be buried. I ask you about your ideal death situation and you talk about mushroom coffins. The car ride is filled with our feelings about the future or lack thereof.

Can two people understand what death means in a world obsessed with it?

We sipped beer and weed to ease the nerves of the haunting that followed us. We drove hours away to catch a tour of the murder house while our heads pounded. A haunting that troubled us in the ways you would imagine.  We felt sick to our stomachs because the air around us began to thicken, making our bodies feel sticky.  Our heads suffered under the scrutiny of the building, intensifying the mundaneness of the house. A house where a wealthy family once dined is now what we call a pastime. Our bellies begged us to fill them with something other than the poisons of the day. Our desire carried us to literature and coffee at the forgotten zenith.

Do the forgotten exist if no one can remember them?

Is a place still known as something even if no one calls it by that name anymore?

We browse the space and consider our next pick for the month. We do laps like we are on a track and field team. I felt a pull to non-fiction and you to poetry. We both end up at the same checkout like we always do.

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A clear mind is impossible after a night out on the town. I sobered up enough to drive but my mind still feels under the influence or possession of the devices in my life. I am hot, overheated, and want to feel a chill more than anything. My skin was partially tanned from the sun’s exposure. My head is pounding almost as if horns were growing out of my crania. Can I pretend I’m not aging? I find it hard to make decisions or to keep a solid schedule. I cling to lyrics about feeling like a child because I feel like I need to be taken care of.

Fall is so close (inspired by Maya Angelou)

leaves crinkle into nothingness

the warmth is still near

before the cold comes again

trees look skinny, scared

cuspate branches take

the earth of its oxygen

to be reborn

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Note from the author: I have felt more inspired than ever to write more. I am releasing this newsletter as a short interlude for what’s to come. Thanks for sticking with me through the inactive posting and inconsistent schedule. i am working on the next installment of my series CantKillMusic and the Sex Lives of Gen Z, which will be out soon!!