Mountains
The mountains made my mind runny and unclear.
Splattered.
Snow falling and being brushed off.
Swish, swish.
And because I’m driving in the mountains,
I’m singing a high up song.
Notes lifting me higher.
In this new state, and new harsh looks.
Mostly my own grimace and the gas station attendant.
I’m a weird butterfly and can’t fly for some reason.
So I’m just slippery, melting butter.
I’d glance at him while I’m simmering.
And I would drive steady on non-hilly roads.
That drove me to stopping in parking lots that dripped like egg whites.
It snowed but not fresh and new.
Harsh flickering snow that’s gray before it hits the ground.
I wanted mountains.
And the higher I got,
The more tight the roads became.
And there’s nowhere to pull over here.
I wish I had a log cabin waiting for me.
Imagine. Being grateful and warm.
But I’m an avalanche away from screaming.
And I’m a screaming away from the cabin.
I got there.
Spattered.
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