Pale Shelter
i look out my eyes,
windshield wipers —
crying all the time,
inside.
the shy gives me the creepers,
living all the time;
buried treasure,
the shovel of survival, hides.
the teacher writes one word,
at a time,
on the enormous blackboard,
looming in my mind.
pretty...pretty...pretty
the violence in my history
destroying the self
not a believer
in books that “help”
disconnected, illusions looming
salesman tries to gimmee
some direction
it’s a one way road
out
my cheeks are red,
my eyes are blue
darkness finds me with you
the wipers fast, never stop
skidding shoes
wheels turning
spinning, burning
12/2/2019
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