An odd sort of Poetry

I Look Everywhere

I look for lost pieces of me everywhere-
In all the ugly things
And all the nameless people,
Pills with names I can’t pronounce.
Men too-
In places I can’t remember
And nights I can’t forget.

I never find them.
I think in searching I get distracted
And forget
What I needed to find in the first place.
I never find them.

Sometimes I think I see glimpses
In empty bottles
And rearview mirrors.
I can almost touch them in our tangled bones
And hear them in the beating hearts
Of all the strangers I know.

But still,
I never find them.

An odd sort of Poetry

Midwestern Lightning

I am from the Midwest.
I was made there.
I grew up there.
I often say that I hate it,
Everything about it,
But that’s not true.

I love the storms:
The hot summer rain,
The chaos erupting in the sky.

My mother used to tell me that the thunder was the angels bowling
-I always liked bowling-
And the lightning
That midwestern lightning that
Illuminated all the skies there ever were,
And put the sun to shame
Even in the dead of night.

What beautiful violence that was.