HOME IS WHERE THE BUGS ARE ! ᵖᵒᵉᵗʳʸ

suburban gods

if I die bury me in a swimming pool,
and let me float until the chlorine makes me pure again.

we always used to look at the sky and treat it like it was endless, we would speak to the bones of the old airfield as we watched the sunset over the fields where we got our first bug bites (mosquito).

the dirt's just dirt now, and all the poetry in the landscape has turned to mud. I've long given up trying to make sense of what it all means, the town that always slept, the nights that felt like falling.

a whole world that felt mine, for just a second. a whole world measured in touchdowns on friday and the buzz of grocery cooler cases that never seemed to end.

I miss feeling everything, and I miss feeling loud.

because we floated in these backyard pools for hours, and we let ourselves dream.

but the dirt is still dirt,
and i'll never be clean.