I.
Tonight, I turned the city on its tip.
I rotated all angles to 90 degrees, and watched the people slip with them.
All with the curve of a glance, the city was mine for a night.
The sky was mine, and the noises that came from the left and right of me were mine, too.
I gently lay my back on cold metal bleachers.
It was a Friday night, in late September.
It was a Friday night, the moon was hindered by the clouds.
A tiny light-dampened spot managed to struggle through the weave of cloud,
But it was so dim.
It was just a patch of pale-moon against a ceiling of grey.
The sky had scared me that evening when I stepped out of my house.
On my way to run, I stood, taken aback, at the sight.
It was unlike any other I'd witnessed.
The sky had vanished.
The sun had become a mere feeling of warmth, had ceased to be something of sight.
The colours didn't blend:
They chopped, they melted quickly, they galloped along to the next town.
The clouds went with them, but this only brought a new wave
Of crashing, crashing silent clouds.
This is what the pre-Apocalypse looks like, I thought to myself.
Fast forward, now.
Fast forward to then.
On middle school bleachers on a Friday in late September.
With that nighttime pre-Apocalypse sky above me,
With that awkward, youthful school dance to the right of my ears,
With that cold steel frame under my chilled body,
With that sight.
The sight of a city on its side is the second most beautiful sight.
And I did it all myself!
Just a curve of a glance, and it was there.
Red lights, white lights, green lights for go, all in the distance.
They all spread up and up to make a line that did not end.
The roads drove down and up and down the horizon line,
And people in cars continued to drive...
Unaware that their city was on its side!
I bet people still walked the streets that went straight down.
And children still ran away from mothers, up sidewalks that could not be ran up.
Yes, they were all unaware of what I had done.
The world still spun left to right for them.
But my world was on its side.
My world was spinning in a new direction...
It spun up and up and up until it collided with that pale-moon patch.
And it continued, continued, continued, crashing silent clouds...
Until I told it to stop.
II.
Time isn't just all around.
It floods all around.
It fills up our day, it fills up our words and heads with foolishness.
Time has somehow managed to creep into everything these days.
I've found her sitting in my chair, where I should be.
But I refused her, and found time someplace else.
But it's not only her, no.
It's those cursed months and seasons, too!
The light through my blinds is woven with late June.
The merciless sun that shines even when I tell it not to.
Warmth that conflicts with my feelings, and I wish it away.
In an empty room where you're gone, and you are too.
I walked downstairs to the kitchen, and it smelled of a March morning.
I'm not feeling so great, I know long days are ahead, but at least I have now.
Mornings are the worst, I said.
Mornings are the best..., I think.
The air outside is definately October.
Saturated October 'til the end.
I can almost see the nonexistent leaves in the rare wind...
Just give it a few weeks. They'll appear.
But then again, the breeze is December.
You'll always hold the most memories, December.
I thought that things could get better, but they didn't.
They got worse and worse until they just fizzled out.
Yes, you are merciful and naive and kind.
You grant the people a breath of fresh air, a cool breeze, a moment to rest...
Until they discover that you are fleeting down the block.
You are carrying yourself farther and farther away,
Down the block and onto the bodies of new people.
Goodbye, December.
You always leave and catapult into January, where I re-start my new findings.
I always end with you a different person I began.
I guess you know me well by now.
I guess you're in another town by now, fooling some other fool like me.
"There's one born every minute."
There's one born every minute...
