Lucinda

Photography by Molly Maynard

Its dimly lit and I’ve never been here before.
Cheese, tomato, and dough are luxuries
That I rarely find myself enjoying.
The blue sunsets of early July
Wrap around me like a 
Blanket of bioluminescent fog.
You won’t have to try to shake me,
I’ll see myself out.
Tinkering with your broken heartstrings, 
I don’t think anything’ll mend
Something I once nestled into
And called my home.

Ethical consumption and country music
Fill my heart halfway, yet I’m not present.
I put my hand up to the sky, but the pieces won’t fit.
Stars burnt out in an upper-iris flurry.
It all slips through my fingers like 
Crystalline crushed rock.
Stuffy restaurants and storefronts selling earth-rock,
Slicked back hair and long ponytails.
This town, this traffic jam of a headache,
Does nothing but pull me in with its lying eyes.
Passing through your soul as I pass you
On the street, I can’t help but see your mind,
a sky collage of empty outlines.
Empty outlines exemplified by your intuition.