Coffee/Roses

There were going to be roses
In the coffee in the morning,
And snowflakes lighting
Upon our window panes.

I was going to read books
By authors well-known
And the leaves of autumn
Would slowly fall down

In the morning it was
To be cold with breaths of fog
And in the afternoon's sun
I was to sit and sing.

But every moment now
We'll live together running
Not a silent second
But actions bright and torn.

Every thought desired
To sit in stained-glass light
Now there will be Christmas
Without silence, flames, and song

I would have shown you
Handfuls of birds
Thrown up in the sky
Now there will be dirt, glass, lye

Naples in winter.

I Want a Guitar

I want a guitar to travel
I want a guitar to free my feet
I want a guitar to take me there
I want a guitar to make me hurt.
In the evening I would go home
To a place unknown, take out
The guitar I know, and make
A strumming hum familiar.
The fingers of each hand
Would wander thoroughly each wire
And my voice would roam
Each soft, uncommon word.
Something gray becomes of
Thoughts that can't sing.
Music is not born it's made
Tomorrow I will go to different
Lands on it. make a boat of it.
And go.

I want a guitar to travel

...

The world was a modern, unterrifying place until the accident.
After that date, everything changed. She changed. No more pretty trees, no more stars that shone high up in the sky. Everything was askew.
Before the accident she hadn't wanted anything. After, she wanted everything she couldn't have. She couldn't have much.
The world became one of wanting, wanting, wanting.
After the accident everything had changed.
A world of daisies became a world of primordial, insurmountable mysteries. A whole series of evil conundrums opening up every day. Normal. Ha.
Everything had changed. She had changed. The world wasn't the same, it didn't look the same. They weren't the same eyes anymore - the viewpoint had skewed.
The world had gotten in a terrible accident.