#2 I can tell we're gunna be friends

Cigarette pack puppet of Jack White. Thanks to Tegan for lending me her DSLR which took these awesome photos. 

The plaid corduroy jacket you always wore flashes in my mind,

the red and white checks overlapping gray

the softness rubbing against my neck when you'd climb onto my back.

A piggy back and a laugh.

This stutter of a bond 

     blinking in a staggering sun.

This surrounds those times when

   Public restroom soap stains

  fingers with a certain stench.

rinse scrub rinse

the impurities from the skin and replace them with

  unfamiliarity.

Sometimes we sit by smokers to pretend we're

badass sucking in the 

second hand ways of someone else,

some half baked idea of normalcy

                     that we can't understand.

Sweater strings knit together like the synapse of a brain and 

           the craters of a moon 

Connections by tiny strings with strength like

    a transparent spiderweb. The fly and the self

Searching for a way to understand and be understood the 

place they're trapped.

words trickle and drip into the pool of the mind and 

swirl to coherence if 

someone listens.

   Though stuttering gives way to pause

and pause gives way to the time to think

        and thinking gives rise to a thought.

So words are the power to understand

       and the strength to

remain in the familiar and find 

                    oneself.

Words are the soft corduroy rubbing against my cheek,

   a reminder and impression after 

    you left.

A wave goodbye, a quiet hello

   the carefully constructed house of cards 

created by a single letter or musical note

   the act of creation.

The creation of self

    by way of word.