before the end of the month of march
when we all fell into a deep but frenzied sleep-
there were dreams of tomorrow.
(now, just some dreams)
there is a feeling that is like a hunger,
it is like running towards and running away, all at once.
(how do the pages make something so difficult in my mind, look so easy)
I used to sketch the outlines of trees
and sip warm lattes out of ceramic mugs
at our favorite table.
now caution tape surrounds those things
like the unspoken words wrapped around the circumference of my thoughts.
(there shouldn't be a boundary)
but this,
like many other things-
which should be allowed to roam free-
are now teathered.
(full of love and loathing)
