If I had been there at the point you must’ve
Said I can’t afford to be me anymore. If I might’ve
Tucked one small idea like a torn ticket into
The pocket of your wrecked jacket. Give us
This day, its baking pavement tar, longing hanging
Tackily like flannel sleeves tied around my waist.
I was told this place was designed to be larger than
Life, confectionery. Sweetheart, I knew you’d be here.
After all, it’s a small world, & a maze is just
A confidently long hallway if you run
Your hand along one wall & never take it off,
Solvable—you could even walk it backwards &
It’d out you eventually, one small idea, a forced orchid
Powdered bright with afterlife in a girl’s hair. Love,
The difference between a ride & a journey is that
One will deliver you right back to where you started
& call it a good time. I was told this place would take me
For one after another—turns out it’s just the same
Old song: about to die rushes your lungs, blooms so quick:
A time-lapse flower, a wish, a cliff, then lingers like it’s taking
Forever. Stay too long & the air turns awful hot &
Sweet, latent as funnel cake. None for me, thanks.
My stomach isn’t tuned for it, turns just looking at it.
But maybe it’s not my place to say so. I’m looking for
A place to park myself. I am so tired of taking such
Raucous care of myself, but I can’t afford not to, &
In the end, I’m always ready to call it a day, for us to turn
For home, once I’ve gone & seen what all the fuss was about.
