In The Attic

Completely awake in the back of the car,

I don’t drift anymore.

All’s come into place

and I unlock the door.

If you have to warm up you can go back inside,

but I’m not going to follow forward.

I’ve come to prefer sleeping outdoors.

Upstairs and downstairs

and outside on the roof,

small stars and steel bars

say the ghosts up in the attic tell the truth.

Standing on shingles at night,

can’t you see that there’s a reason?

The plans aren’t on the ground,

they’re high and hanging down.

Well once I remember the words,

we can climb down from the rooftop.

I swear that I heard it right here, invasively clear.

But I was upstairs and downstairs

and outside on the roof,

small stars and steel bars

say the ghosts up in the attic tell the truth.

On The Roof

Stuck to a growing black balloon,

my neighbors are slowly glowing maroon.

Don’t throw away my broken telescopes.

Who has dragged you away?

Who’s that carrying the rope?

The Universe is Going to Catch You

It’s been a long time coming,

it’s not up for debate.

You’ve been a hollowed-out apple,

though you’re standing up straight.

It’s later than you think,

and we’re not going to wait

if you continue to tell us,

if you continue to tell us

“The Universe is going to catch you.”

It was fine until you fell off the face of the Earth,

‘cause we would call you at home and

no one picked up the phone.

We were worried that you’d fallen in the river, or worse,

but then you sent us back a letter,

it said in capital letters,

“THE UNIVERSE IS GOING TO CATCH YOU.”

Come back inside

to this house,

to your home

made of steel-structured styrofoam,

nobody’s out there.

But someone is singing you back to your birthplace.

That voice is the same voice you heard

on the same night that

everything glowed,

took you into the air,

and the arms of the universe

kept you from falling.

But after that happened,

those arms did not come back.

So when you leapt up and

nobody caught you,

your neck broke.

In the Snow

It got cold in the snow,

and I just want to go home.

I thought the stars were inside,

I kept them hidden, I tried.

But they kept screaming for release,

they picked me up off of my feet,

and brought me up through solid peace,

and told me,

“You can’t stay for long.”

I woke up without arms,

I stood up without arms.

I couldn’t walk in direction

with all this static reflection.

I was lost inside a map

that I had written in a nap.

When I heard a voice where branches snap,

I followed it home.

Stairs to the Attic

I decided on that evening

that I was through with sitting still.

I stood up and started moving

with a childlike fascination

for those doors that don’t have locks,

and the stairways that were blocked.

So I dug through the obstruction,

put my fist around the railing,

and each step was far apart,

and far away from the steps before it,

and the air was getting thinner,

until I couldn’t breathe at all.

And if I happened to look behind me,

there were miles and miles of stairs,

enough so I couldn’t see the doorway,

but I knew that it was there.

And on the last step I was dizzy,

‘cause there were stairs in all directions.

But I found another door,

and through the door there was the attic.

Without old clothes,

without a ceiling,

everything had opened wide

into the jaws of something bigger,

and suddenly I saw that I was

Upstairs and outside and freezing on the roof.

Finally, it had found me:

the answer, the feeling, and the truth...

That I’m small,

I’m smaller than the smallest fireball.