…a river, suffering because reflections of clouds and trees are not clouds and trees

You are dependent.
An addict unfixed but still
stuck, expectant.

Obsessed with knowing yourself
is so close
to knowing.

You think “As long as I have eyes,
I can smile, face the world with open windows.”
But beauty is not happiness–
Try to see this.

Think you can save yourself
from high school?
Tie your arms with tourniquets
and take fresh air injections.
Snort the view out the window
while you downward-facing dog.

What I am afraid of–
You someday unconvinced
that everything is good,
that God is in the number 42.
Deep breathless
and without coincidences
you might forget
your own eyes
your lips–
my dependence.

It doesn’t make sense
to compete with God.
If everything turns out
to be imperfect
you can’t kiss yourself
asleep.