“I’m an artist with a certain special something, and that something makes me really, really sad because of nothing.” — Hobo Johnson
Everything hurts beautifully sometimes
across from you, I’m confined solitarily
to this counter chair, shaking
‘til I fall onto the diner’s vinyl tile.
Let me draft my words to you on this napkin
for a moment before
my mind flies into the wind.
I can only wish for daydreams submerged
in amber and thoughts wading through water.
My silence is simply an echo
of the sounds I make on walks
in the emptiness of the nighttime.
Sidewalks house me
when all is silent in the neon darkness of the world.
To say something beautiful is once-in-a-lifetime
which is why I scribble on napkins
and wander hopelessly in the night
as the Earth shifts
beneath my feet.
at the best part of this.
How to say, you remind me of a simpler
day when I’m still, sitting here.
Is it the light snow that shakes me
or the natural fallen twig I find I am.
I’ve been the ice on the road way too long.
Little truly needs to be said
but that I’m here right now
blending in with the flower wallpaper of this diner.
I haven’t lost my voice,
it’s just gone for the winter.
When these things happen, I know you’re just a complex human,
as am I. I remember:
You’re wide awake
early each morning under the stars.
I have no comment on
the passing comets we are.
I’ll take my sadness
on the side please.
Too many things, like you,
are too good for this small world.
It takes too long to fall asleep at night.
I just want to be wide awake.
We’ve all been a bit too busy to
stop and enjoy the drawings on the sidewalk.
Please fill in the blank when I’m fumbling for words like lightning.
Things work out eventually, hopefully.
Because all I want is
for you to be
in front of me
and for some happiness
in the middle of the street.
I’ll run one day, but let me sleep
for now, until I rise
grinning at my curtains
blocking the sun
from staring at me like someone I seem to know.