Oscillation Mounds

kind of about autism, mostly just about me being the way i am.

Oscillation Mounds

It’s August and I am walking down Starr avenue.

There’s a breeze gliding over the shifting sands of my expression, 

and a hot sun shooting laser beams into my back.

Voices I’ve known for five years are trailing behind me

while I’m four steps ahead with my mouth glued shut;

while I’m four steps ahead tapping thumb to finger

how many cracks I step over,

or how many cars pass,

or how many times I’m asked if I’m alright.

I’m alright,

just busied by the restless shimmering leaves 

crowning the beech trees

Like a wreath blessing the arborist’s head,

I’m busied by the sound of shredding rubber 

smearing against baked pavement 

barking at the warmth it’s smothered by.

And I’m simply enamored by the sound your mouth makes 

when it bends atypically around the “A” and “L”.

You’re off put by my preoccupation,

maybe I am too difficult.

I may carry myself in a confusing manner, 

and for that I apologize. 

I am stuck in between the unmoving stones of 

A snapping and snarling 

small, shaking dog 

whose ribs poke through its skin like oscillation mounds.

Between that and the algal stagnance of a brainless mayfly 

atop a bucket of dirty river water.

I am a chest pulled tight in an empty field,

Where there’s nothing to be frightened by.

I am trying to be softer.

I am trying to slowly close the gap

between my top and bottom lash,

To quiet my widening eyes and

deepen my shallow breath and

become something more

still.

I want to be something still.