These are the moments I understand the most. Lying in bed, looking at the light come in from the window, reflecting off the mirror of the devil’s head. Before thinking is required and sleep is still present. Before my feet have to touch the ground and life expects me to play along.

I don’t want to play along anymore.

I don’t belong here. The men in ball caps with their babies draped across their chests belong. The children belong, scooting along the Brooklyn sidewalks, tiny helmets and glowing shoes. The women holding hands belong; a peaceful solitude long overdue. The hipsters belong, with their Harry Potter lenses and vintage stocking caps – despite the days warmth. The young mothers, the old, the new and the experienced, they all belong.

But who was I?

A corn-bred implant from lands of flat fields. Guns in our houses and a distance in the backyard that couldn’t be articulated here. Woods are all I saw as the Missouri sunsets lay orange across our backs. Nature can be a dangerous place for the mind. Too much space can cause wandering when one should not wander.

work in progress 

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