scene kid golden shovel

i am small in the scent of the pavement–all i can do is stare skyward, and don’t care so much where it takes me, where i end up–but when you put it like that, it doesn’t sound great. she knows the way, she says. better than me, she says. i’ve never minded getting lost here, blow hours to watch her say hi to torrential gutters, to the drainage ditches, to vessels that never learned how not to spill out of themselves. to me, obviously. beyond where anything grows, just past the butterflies, something shaped like you strikes me and so and i am bleeding i go another round and knock out my senses and i can’t act right and i don’t want to. i want to be put through it, proof of a full life. do you look for me like i look for you in bruises and in mirrors? we’re getting ahead of ourselves, even if it’s what we do best. a

drop comes and i smell everything–ozonic, humid, asphalt, you–to be little again, so small in the scheme of you, first girl crush on a hail storm. come closer to ecstasy or leave it. press the big red don’t button or hold me and promise it’ll be different this time. disclaimer: i count maybe as a promise. disclaimer: we’ll both go down in flames if you get what you want. disclaimer: i want to. ripping myself out of my skin, begging you to know me. did you ever? the thing is that you’ll never see her coming–i am a helicopter warning to close your windows and i need you to tell me what you know, even if it’s nothing. i beg well. this isn’t your first rodeo and neither am i. i am an open window. you know this. i am the man they’re looking for. you know this.