The wrong latitude has left me with a perspective even I don't recognize as my own
not to mention a terrible cold and
an empty bank account
Grown tired of light until 22:30, damn 24 hour time,
and twisting my ankle on cobblestone streets
looking the wrong way when I step out into the street.
Tired of different colored currency
menu items I can't pronounce
and wading through conversations
muddled with accents I love.
The people here are shrapnel
from an exploded dream I wandered out of
I wake unexpectedly every morning
to pick them from my teeth
and shake them from my hair
bleary eyed. sleep stunned.
Unsure of how to wander back,
less sure of my desire,
when every map is a wasted weather map
that failed to predict these atmospheric changes
in time to make any difference.
And any direction is every direction
leading north of my gut and
south of my sore throat
to a tiny four chambered room
prickly with daggers and thorns.
I fall asleep to my own pulse in my ear
pulling a thread of a raveling memory
as it whispers names and dates
I can't forget but would rather not remember.
may eighteenth, may 18th, 5/18
I wake up in unknown rooms
my own rooms dark and deserted
with faces I can't recognize and voices I can't place
carrying out plans I don't remember making
not quite sure I want to change
unsure how a month away
has left me saying phrases
even I don't understand.
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