the cars going by

the june stars are suffocating while

i lie supine in an almost dark room listening to the street refuse to sleep

 

the mountains are far from here sheltering everyone or everything that i left behind

 

And i lie so still trying to hear a whippoorwill beyond these streets

 

I raise my arms toward the ceiling and the artificial light that seems infinite spreads across my forearms in a way that makes me cry

 

If i imagine hard enough,  my skin is Carter’s Lake on a summer night spreading across the darkness to reflect the moon

 

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