comfortable justwrite

Comfortable captions resting on my feet as fingers chase invisible lizards across the grass, like shards of moonlight cold against my skin, hot between sheets of glass etched and etched again until there is nothing but steam like a fog and a shadow falling heavily with each breath, lost in itself, in an imaginary rhythm because no one counts syllables anymore unless they're lost at sea and the waves can't carry more than
one
at
a
time
until you've no more words, just empty sacks and a few torn magazine pages you think are mirrors but know can only reflect pea soup, thick and unappetizing, like tides of memories you wish weren't, tides of walls falling in and an unwelcome hand swabbing the sweat from your forehead so the ocean grows less salty, ice melting into lemonade, music filling the empty spaces because you don't know what else can fit in at such awkward angles, and you point all five fingers in your search for blame, ignoring the guilt creeping like distant sister laughs up your arms, her calling from New York and you pressing silence so you can avoid the inevitable, her wallet aching and her pockets twitching as your mom pours boiling water over the good china. It cracks like ice. You try to fit inside but only have two of yourself to work with, cram the corners into rounds and imagine what it is to be comfortable.