Conspiracy Theorists

The lights on the freeway are rain-blurred.
They come and go like passing pop stars.
The windshield wipers wipe like skinny robots.
On I-15 from Sandy to Salt Lake City all we can see are clouds.
Mountains don’t exist. Neither do we.
The moon hangs like polished silverware on a black wall

We talk in the car about authenticity, about what it means it means to be a real human being.
We talk about the weather. The rivers washing over the city.
We talk about love, what it means besides the back of yogurt lids.

You know,
I wanted to write you a letter.
I wanted to undress my thoughts in front of you
until I stood as naked and vulnerable as a white canvas on New York city street
I wanted to sew words like potatoes into a stew for you, feed them to us on our deathbed, bottle up all the things that went wrong between us, throw them off a cliff. Hear the glass breaking mix with the ocean’s thrashing.
Because I am boy, in a man’s body, looking for redemption, still scared to sleep without the light on.
And I am looking for reconciliation, between myself in the mirror and all the darkness in here, , between the world as it is and the world as we all want it to be.
But all I can see are cities burning and the things inside of me darkening.
Perhaps Peace is mythical creature that only comes out in the night with two sets of wings and a large snout, Perhaps redemption looks a lot like Bigfoot, blurry at best, only alive to those conspiracy theorists

Still, I am looking for God through the cracks of the fog, sifting through the moisture inside of me, trying to find peace.

I am pining for that sweet release, looking for that black hair on a perfume beach

I wanted to write you a letter but I was scared of letting you down.

So lets pretend just for tonight that I was the wine, and you the wineglass

Just you.

and Me.

In the dark
With a pen
And paper
Flicking ink on white
Flying kites on the blue

of living room blankets—
let’s melt beneath
the fabric

and live as lint.
Those cotton spent molecules clinging

Lets lives as rent
paid in full
the refrigerator whole.

Lets live as if heaven is on earth and the dirt on hearth of the
fireplace—
is slowly burning away.


Let’s practice resurrection.

Perhaps we can capture the moon, cut off a slice feed it to each other at night when the sky turns black and the stars are hiding

Lets, Lets be conspiracy theorists