I SEE OUTSIDE

i see outside
it has snowed
behind the cellophane
and the window pane.
i see outside
a bright white light
twirling like a pink gowned
little girl in a mirror room.
“am i pretty,” it seems to ask.
“you are,” i reply,
although the word
she wants to hear
from me
never forms from
my lips,
like an incomplete, inarticulate
bony mash of well intentioned
verbs
that never rise.
i see outside
my skeleton, lifeless on a mountain side.
the parts of me i ever braved reveal
erode in a slow clap.
aster germinates deep from my marrow;
blooming like tumors upon my landscape.
it is the wrong season for this and
i saved those seeds so long.
“so long,” i whisper as i watch them wither.
i take my gaze away
and sit down to take
my vitamins.
it has been three months of cold;
yet this is only the first snow.
there are no mountains
where i have come.
i miss them
and the cat.
i see outside
a wide, flat demur;
the neighboring roofs of my childhood ghost;
the solid brick wall of my twenties.
i swallow my pills,
whilst twisting the blinds.
i see outside
a bright white light.
i don’t want to let it in
more than it already is.

written on 01/08/2015 by: Matt Kane