letra de plaster - nost
from the dry dust of the prairies you grew up in, and the hot, wet air between your mouths, you made plaster to set in the shape of a future. needless to say, you’ve exhausted every mold by this point, and resorted to just dumping it on the highway, to stiffen with the sun that felt condemning, while persistently beading the sweat off your arms to drip into the plaster your hands work furiously to shape. never truly drying with the renewing moisture, your lover places their hands on your shoulders. “tact and common sense dictate it’s time to give up,” the sun says politely as it crosses the sky. “perhaps you should go”. disappearing behind a mockingly flat horizon, you watch his exit. you pack up your things head home to bed where you can expect unfulfilling s-x and mental wandering, often at the same time. but before you’re consumed by respite from consciousness, you realize you haven’t said goodnight aloud in quite a while. but, as your mouth creaks open, the water that earlier was so proud to spill from your body is absent. the prairie dust is back. even laying next to the best part of your life, it chokes yours words and coats your mouth. you wanted water, just not badly enough to get up. morning comes and you know full well that coffee is the only thing that can wash the plaster from your mouth. plaster. you remember. you run to the highway with legs long dormant, you look for the hardened mess on the road. every dead animal is a false alarm. eventually, you see it. hardened to the ground beside a four way stop. the sun got to it like it gets to you. the plaster is rough, in a shape devoid of meaning, but that doesn’t stop you from finding a meaning. it’s beautiful. but only from the inside. and it’s beautiful. in the same way your friends describe the concerts you couldn’t go to. it’s beautiful, and you want to tell the world even though you know the story ends with, “you had to be there”. you run back to that dusty bed like a child so you can share this sight with the best example of love you can think of, but they’re not there. they never were. you woke up early and climbed back into bed even earlier. are you dreaming? would it even matter if you were? it’s noon, and the sun is right above you urgently warning, “there’s nothing for you here”. the wheat to either side of highway has about as much spine as any person to try and admire the fact that no matter how loudly you’re screaming at the colossal skies that brought people here in the first place, your open mouth will fill up with enough dust to build you a city. this is where you are, and like that plaster, i pray that you’ll stick to the road for the rest of your life
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