Waiting Until Yesterday’s Gone

 

Lotion to salvage specks of skin

Colonies of cells, It is spread on like hot butter that cools

Sadness is like hunger, something that waits to be filled up

Wrapping me in arms bruised purple with the minutes that have passed and left us empty we wait

And time is on tiptoe, secretive and slow, lighting Bart stations and bedtime tuck-ins

He lifts a match to add fire to his table he watches the tears of the candles falling in warm rolls, but clogged filters and drainpipes inhibit a copycat longing to be

Grieving something never possessed is the hardest way to sing

Voices break over frets of memory soft and hopeful

Even the is sun is faded and fake, putting on the face of the ringleader when no one else will take a stand

A charismatic catalyst the sun is admired and alone

Heads heavy and filled with water and waves sinking towards black desktops and flat planes of what they will teach where no one is looking

Where there is no light no time and no tears

And no dry skin either.