I see

There are things that weigh heavy on me
like the pressure that comes from diving too deep,
as unwanted as predators camouflaged in suits
circling sidewalks to peddle their convictions,
that we are all convicted unless we adopt mutual opinions.
Like squeezing blood from a stone
life leaves me slowly, icing from a bakers piping bag
only not as sweet, not as purposefully put together.
There are things that press unbearably,
pulling back only when suffocation is imminent
when the amount of myself left
can be measured in teaspoons
and the curved tusks of my torso
sound the splinter that precedes a break.
A strange and intimate relationship do I entertain
with the heady impressions that life projects onto my mind,
all the small deaths endured, the tragedies observed
as unhealthy as it is satisfying
like fetish sex with a prostitute
because you've caught your past trailing after you
like a second shadow
and this is the only way you can get off.
I see a woman made of watercolor
watery eyes and soft paper skin
she must have dried this way, sitting at a bus stop
thin mouth dripping into chin
a drooping slit that belies the happiness she's had
chest dripping into the curves of hips
once indescribably useful
(to her husband who left proof of his love there
and to her sons who borrowed the lines of her life to create their own)
they're made of plastic now, or lay broken beneath the skin
like the english she no longer attempts
like loved ones resting beneath the crust of the land.
Her life has been full of cracks
and everything has fallen through, gotten lost
like eastern seas sifting in her memory
through a bounty of unbound hair.
I watch an ambulance part traffic
ambling uncertainly
even as the child it attempts to reach
who with wild pride unraveled the mystery
of a lock
and ran laughing into traffic.
I have no control over this ramshackle house
whose windows are too well used
whose walls are riddled with holes and a door that wont close,
all manner of things creep in and bed down in the floor boards.
I watch a homeless man who doesn't beg
but poses on a bench
resigned to a life that is too longly lived.
A young woman is kept awake at night growing pain in her eyes
and stains beneath her black lashes like smudges
of the toxic thoughts she cycles through,
the moment before I die will I regret my life
is everything flavorless or am I loosing my desire to taste, to try.