The Consistency of Nostalgia 5

Everything is gray outside and beautiful
packed in grocery bags and concert
jungles of dreams bulletting out of my gut.
I keep shattering the landmarks of the city,
I thought the Chrysler building would be OK
if it fell off the coffee table — it’s a matter
of having to rely on something internal
like a compass or smoke signal or heart
murmur, something obviously brittle
and prowling for resources. I was filling
out the matrix of saudade-ish animals
and still have blank spaces for some kind
of predator or whale; nothing scares me
more than the looming giants poking out
from the peripheral fog and hiding their eyes
and treating me as a vague and constant
instant flirting with the long blonde hair
stuck to my coat wrenching euphoric.

-C.S. Henderson