It’s neat to look back at old poems before they were fully crafted into the final, flawless product. The handwriting is messy and there are things scribbled out all over the page. There are doodles from brainstorming sessions. The pages are ripped and crinkled and folded over. They are my thoughts in the most raw form. They are the art of a process.
I avoid sidewalk cracks to focus my attention elsewhere. I notice everything. The scattered dandelions spread across the large squares. Strands of grass peak through the cracks. Intricate designs lie where the concrete splits, and imperfect lines where the weeds do fit. No two squares are the same on this block.
If I look up you’ll glance in my direction, such a heavy exchange. Your eyes are filled with dense hope, such innocence, and such care. Do you notice the care I put into each graceful step. I’m so painfully aware. How do you ease into a matter such as this?
For the first time in my life I would welcome oblivion. It would be pure sweet bliss not to know what I know, a dandelion wish. Your smile is so lovely and unknowing. It is so pure and so sweet. It’s clear, you are still in this. I’ve been out for some time. For so long it faded, for no reason or rhyme.