appalachians

with vision disturbed by a window pane
resting on an inversion table
my brain is capable of digesting
a million tops of trees
a second
and breathing my thoughts
that seem to pulse parallel to the electric jolts
from over loaded outlets
that hover just above my head
i realize that these trees are finger prints
rings of wear
much like his finger prints
were ideas
scattered on my thighs
carefully unscripted
and what i like to imagine
impulsive
i sip on a different (he)'s nerves
as he sucks on my vision
of the way things are not
but really are
and aren't
because he can't seem to grasp the concept
of a flower
instead
it is plucked of it's originality
and set in a classified vase
feeding off of its own flaws
the stamen
castrated
the pollen
stolen
and my ears are laughing in a mess
of weeds
while his breath shouts at me
picking the air apart
and categorizing that too
that reminds me of the cold
and the cold makes me think of the first (he)'s toes
under not so soft sheets
pressing into my heels
that danced earlier that day
kicking up the dirt that would soon be mixed with snow
i find myself wandering back to that he
a great deal of my time
and i realize that he too is an idea
much like his finger prints
that some how
still find themselves on my thighs
and in my hair
because without them printed
i am more than just a letter
with commas and sentence structure and an address
i am my thoughts
and i am utterly alone
and perfectly capable
but finger prints feel safe on my skin
so my hands remain unwashed
and my limbs
written upon
just like the tops of these trees
will remain finger printed
though my window pane
at least
for as long as i am looking