Young Rivers and Future Hearts

“we can spend our days building ships
breaking them apart at sunset”
-Sam Stein

I’m not sure I understood
what was noble or free about the soul.
I felt something ghastly twist
around every rock, I felt a scarf
twist around my neck, I felt
the rain in pixels and loam
in my heart. What is great
about the future when it vomits
in the stairwell before the party begins?
Unlike genius, it won’t even take
a cab home.

I found it slumped against a hydrant once,
humming Christmas music and saying the world
was gold. Where’s the line that separates spatio-
temporal meandering from humor?

-C.S. Henderson