sinking

he was arabian, they said.
cut-off shirts and leather eyes
and god, he tried to tone it down
somehow the heat of life
always caught him off-guard
the silvery blues kept dragging him
back with the tide.

he has no religion, no friends.
he has no parents.
no worries.
every night, his pores gasp
to take in the night, to let out the acid
some days he can't see a thing until midnight.
some days he sees too much
(but it's not a problem, just a fact
another wink or another thumbtack)
everyone always knows when he's mad
but not when he's not

on the day that he found out
trees were their normal green, for once.

sometimes spring is when you fall in.

this country, this hotter than hot
this world, these dreams
this sinking feeling keeps keeping me up all night
and every day is another spring.