B23

a scant six months ago
maybe seven
I was exactly here, in Calgary.
the city that haunts me by lingering
in my memory as my mecca of consumer choice.
now, the obese ruin
of unplanned economic disaster.

a scant six months ago
or seven
I had no idea life would start to twist
in ways of formation unbeknownst to that man,
who lingered in the airport hallways
for countless painfully lonely moments
hoping to find a little salvation.

a scant six months ago
maybe seven
a boy was crying internally for a grief-stricken life,
waiting for some sort of unknown metamorphosis to take over
turn this encompassing shell into an enclave of hope.
to take this fragility of life and find meaning,
however temporarily.

a scant six months ago
or seven
staring out at those who
would travel copilot with me to London
did little to stem my eyes’ cravings
for nourishment of a face that would stare
back lovingly into these eyes.

a scant seven months ago,
there was little, but hope.

probably why alive is my corpse.
probably why nourished is my brain.
probably why healthy is my spirit.
probably why life shows me
daily a new opportunity to appreciate its angelic experiences.
those that lift even the neediest of larvae
into the monarchs of the insect world.