This Doesn’t Take Place In Florida

I live alone in the woods but
I am still less alone than
Most people in human history
Because I have a phone

In a few days I will go to a funeral
In a big city
Where someone will tell me his life story

He grew up in Florida
Has returned to Florida
It was hard for him in Florida

Which sounds exactly like
Everywhere else 

I have been to Florida
But not for a long time
So it is not part of my life story
But most people have the same life story
If you just insert your own details
Mentally replacing “Florida” for
Your personal “Florida”

I have considered my life 
In its totality and strangeness
More recently than I’ve been to Florida

So basically I was in Florida

If Florida is a metaphor 
For the place where things happened 
In your life story
Instead of it being the state called Florida

Sometimes I wait for a new life
I wait for it to emerge from the trees
I wait and I wait
And it does not appear
But that does not dissuade me
From trying again at some point in the future

At a funeral people will try and tell
Someone’s life story
Since that person is not there to tell it
They do a decent job usually
Considering it is not possible



 

The World Where it Rains


The rain is continuous and forever
Nobody knows how long it has been raining
It has been raining since we can remember
So long that now we don’t call it raining anymore

In the raining world I decide I will
Quit my job and move far away
Then go grocery shopping
To celebrate
That it will always rain

Before anyone speaks to me they are beautiful
In the aisles they are being beautiful
They have come out of the rain to be with me
And we will frolic among the groceries

But then they speak to me
And ruin it all

I think of the specific flavor of candy I want to buy
And I can’t recall the brand
Or maybe they don’t make it anymore
So yes, we can want things that are gone I guess

We unconsciously pine for the sun
That we no longer even remember
Or who people could have been
Before they started talking

I think about
When I move and
When this is no longer “my” store
I will love it so fucking much then
But not before then 

Somehow
That night it stops raining when
I am at the gas station
It is just me and the gas station
Oh and also the guy that works at the gas station
I remember that I miss everyone who is not me and the guy at the gas station

In the world where it is not raining now
It can be different
Because when something changes you know
It has just begun changing
And soon it will be the rest of everything changing
Forever
And it will continue this way
And I will move far away
And be in the sun


 

Leaves (Leaves)

A mental image of me covered in leaves
Exponentially decreasing in size relative to the pile of leaves
Completely minimized by nature (leaves)
Until eventually everything else becomes secondary to leaves

To the massive foliage dome of leaves
Nothing else matters but the leaves

But these are just imagined leaves 
I made up for this poem 
So there are no leaves actually

And the world is as it is 
And I say it is a pile of leaves
In a poem about leaves

Which is to say
Metaphorically and not literally so