I am not the right person for you to talk to today as you drive east across roads that ache from the sun I am not the right person for you to talk to because I have known sad as in blue as in I don't mind if sleep folds me into forever because my dreams sing I don't mind if I succumb to the gray water rising tepid over my head and under my soul I am not the right person to talk to because I don't know what went wrong that one day in band camp above the treeline I have known sad and it is not weak it is not cowardly It is no
place for the uninitiated it is replete with fullness and green and has its own set of towels and my senses run full tilt into wicker baskets of oranges and white terry cloth bath robes that place you call weak is just to the left of my sternum it smells of 1962 and my mothers perfume it is real and it swallows hours and days and desires and my hand and my heart without breaking a sweat
I am not the right person for you to talk to today
