Sitting in the Skull

Sometimes, I want to use the title
“Searching for beautiful things
in a normal world”
then write about gas tanks
red sunglasses and shiny fingernails,
but then I think ‘that won’t do.’ —
these are rarely beautiful, if at all.
Street signs fade into storefronts and
eyelashes sink into gray;
Our plastic rulers fall just short of a hand
of skin and bone —
a treasure I never sought
but holds its own
beyond all thoughts
all insights all adventures —
‘that’s alright’ I think
about my haircut, wrinkles on my thumbs,
new hiking boots
that’s alright
I’ll hike more and more
until I can backpack
with all things beautiful;
as long as I know where
my eyes are.

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