can of worms

a second’s difference between acceptance and truth. a second’s difference between breathing freely, or having your chest become the knot of some ribbon; tied. and a minute’s worth of time between the water and the coast, between the sun as it sinks into the sand of some desert. it doesn’t take but an hour to undo; for all your doubts to stand up like dominoes. it’s like standing against a firing wall with your finger on the trigger of a gun that points both ways. it’s a continual yellowing bruise, a recollection with no reasonable explanation, except that you feel it with the same voracity that it was buried with, that somewhere; it subtly lies pulsing while you sleep.

 

i’m driving to new haven now. new haven has a way of cheering me up completely. i am going to buy flowers and a journal. maybe a sweater.