Hi The last bits of snow cling to the yellowed grass. Coats lay in crumpled heaps, sunbeams cut through the chill. The coffee jostles my senses awake. I get lost in the sound of keys clacking under my fingers.
Maps And we got turned around, lost down weird detours. Once we stopped worrying about making it there on time a sort ease took hold. We were fine as long as we were together no matter where we were.
Here and Gone Prickly weeds always sprout up. They will keep at it long after our gardening gloves collect dust. They will be a nuisance to future generations. They aren't going anywhere. Prickly weeds sprout up despite our best efforts. Waiting for bare feet, out of plain sight.
I Get Delirious I drive through fog at 7 a.m. and hope I don't hit a deer. I got to the office early on the wrong day. I take my time, making the coffee just right and finishing work early. I think about leaving you this morning wrapped up in warm covers. I need to stop getting so worked up about my job.
Weirdo Lovers Find a place where we can be alone. Find a place to call our own. Weirdo lovers congregate, weirdo lovers don't be late. A place awash in city light, or somewhere distant, out of sight. Weirdo lovers congregate, weirdo lovers don't be late.
I Can’t Change Time I don’t care about how much time has passed. Just stay a little longer, work can wait. Just one more episode of The Office, just another cup of coffee. Soon we’ll be apart again clinging to scattered texts and phone calls. Soon it will all come to an end. We’ll come home to one another ever night, very soon but not soon enough.
A Change of Pace I felt a little closer to home when I put on that Protomartyr album. Did the call drop again? I stayed up, getting lost in the glitzy haze of campaign coverage. I wake up most mornings and don't know where I am.
At Odds I watched crows flock and perch on mailboxes, spinning imaginary dread. Spinning ominous nothings under gray skies. Fear hangs on misunderstandings stretched across history. Fear is nurtured by ignorance. Fear is never in short supply.
Bye I finally got my feet warm. Wet socks sit in the corner, snow piles up where I just shoveled. I watch through the fogged up cracked leaded glass. My cat purrs at the edge of the couch. The day drifts by and the clamps down icy.
Afterward I focus on the ringing in my ears. Of the clock sounding out seconds, of the rain building and falling to a whisper. I move to the forgotten noises of my apartment. The one's that slip by in everyday frenzy. I let the dishes fill up the sink, let the clothes sit in the dryer. I lay in bed and listen.
About Nicholas Arthur is 26 years old and currently lives in Michigan. He is a Wayne State University graduate. Along with poetry he dabbles in music, writing and art. When he is not writing he can be found looking in the bargain bin at the record store, drinking coffee far too late at night, and eating breakfast any time he pleases. He has a cat named Simba.