I

If I were— 

the sounds of violent rain water—

elegantly casting off the roofs of houses

like a rambunctious waterfall and pouring upon the—

midnight streets that are, so dusty—

with starlight and the multicolored highlights

are vibrant like the

northern lights. 

The streets are as wide as a steel bridge, but

as narrow as a 

lackadaisical brook—

that lives in the tucked away meadows

of Tennessee.

II

So go ahead.

Tell me—the feeling

of being torn away

from, what you desire—

and for that feeling

to be whisked away and dumped—

with no care into the 

icy bay.

III

I'm still learning how to 

accept the imperfections in life,

and the journey one takes to create themself—

beyond the mask they wear.

Truth.

Hides behind—the long, drowned out, summer days

that have long since—

been forgotten.

As the memories of winter and animated snow—

slip, from the tips of your fingers, and

shatter down, to form a window—

that is as blurry as smoke 

rising from a campfire, but is as

transparent as a blistering, white 

tidal stream.