Just One Place

For a while I saw everything in dualities. I’d draw images in pairs. Two birds, two airplanes, two crumpled up pieces of paper. I’m drawing red and silver jets again and I realize that there are dozens, and all of them mean me, which means that none of them mean “us,” and I think that I’ve got to be all right with this. I want an adventure. I want to know what I’m doing. I want to bite down on my tongue and taste iron. I miss you all the time. I have all of these theories, about the future and metaphysics and human nature. We don’t talk about things anymore. It’s like trying to put my hands into something that doesn’t exist.