hanging from the rafters in the sky

clocks in a motel room;
the years go by like one day
with these old photos in my hands.

how do cities understand?
that by skating on the edge of the world
we carve north stars in Styrofoam
on the edge of reality.

we are all waiting to be found
when stars die.

                (i used to have a name)

now i'm dreaming of the simple things,
and i'm ready to fight my way.
somebody told me:
        "i have loved the stars too fondly."

between gray and gold
there are flaking photographs and shattered memories;
the heartlines of drunken sinners chasing stars.

cold hearted, you bound our spines.
        breathe.
                (and breathe out)

it is not enough to know the colors of my soul,
like a painting hung all wrong, or
and unwanted diary.

dreams catch in the lungs.

        let go, little bird.
                (but don't forget me)

without you, my fickle muse,
the city daydreams,
        desperate to connect with
the world near your feet.

(lost wishes can be found
        in saltwater veins)

but most days,
what once was is
sweet serendipity;
windows in the sky.

i'll remain suspended,
burning up,
an angel without wings.