Welcome to Day 2 of 3 of the Poetry and Music Challenge! This poem wiped my brain right out. But that’s probably good, for some unintelligible reason. Read it and then listen to Milo also ramble on in various — somehow magically related — topics.

Enjoy.

You Bought Me a Bouquet of Flowers

We fell asleep on the drive home and
Missed much along the scenic route.
Caves of trees passed us with eyes closed
And on this side of eyelids we saw grassland
Oases and raced deer along the highways.
Sun blinded us as we pulled into the
Driveway. When it dipped behind horizon,
We saw rain spots on asphalt. Maybe
Rain drops fell along road just before our wheels —
Left our windshields, and our blades clean. I drove
With eyes closed, so we could sleep together
On the day we almost became ghosts.
That day, our gods died behind
Restlessly sleeping eyes and over rotated tires.

We pulled out moving boxes one by one and
Dropped them into storage containers so we wouldn’t
Have to negotiate past lives. They’re still there —
Today — and we haven’t examined all our last crimes:
The bribes we bought ourselves to pick our feet up:
The jibes you threw my way to keep the street slick
Under tires that couldn’t spell directions. We were
Mismatched, but now our lives live out inside
Moving boxes piled high in caves, in storage containers —
And I’m contained. This is me: Public Storage, room 317.

At nights, this home is illumined by lightning strikes
With shadows moving in corners and strange bodies
Crawling into spaces in our bed — left empty by memories
Of our glory years and the road trip: when we left
Our eyes behind, leaked in puddles along painted lines
And asphalt stripes. Stacks of books and candles, piled
Thoughts and trinkets sometimes imitate our old lives
And other times remind us of new lies, new lines drawn
Around our lungs, on top of eyelids — to mimic sight.

I don’t believe in marigolds, or fields of melancholic asters.
I think sunflowers know where the sun is just as much as
I do. We passed them on the road with eyes closed
And, here, on the kitchen table, they’re blind now. I
Grew up in this field of dreams. On the doorstep of
This house, roughed up my knees jumping off of that
Couch — and now I’m locked outside. I’m not asking for
Your miracles. Or your stacks of bachelor buttons, bluebells
And crumbling misconceptions of columbines. I don’t know
If there are oceans somewhere filled with all your memories
(of rain spots on asphalt and scenic routes on long drives),
But I know they’re not in storage boxes. I know these
Photographs of us don’t spell out oceans of trust, just because
We set them next to memories of love. I never thought

We could sleep this long. Next to shadows in the dark and
Forgotten voices in our hearts, we’ve seen us weeping along
The scenic route on some stretch of road between here
And there: borrowing breaths from breaks in the clouds
Kept us going. When sunlight looked silver and turned
green grass gold — now I hear our wheels spinning.
We fell asleep on the drive home and missed much
Along the scenic route.

 
Stay gold,
Sabrina