Confused Kandinsky

The prettier humans
with the hair and the spandex,
they look jean jacket;
well-worn, dirt-repellent.
I spoke to expanse
it got up then left.
Sashay back toward
misanthropic disaster.
One second
till downpour
and then it's this
absence radiating
up against
your body.
The coke edit
of the director's film
was sonic-sound baby.
It was lights.
What I don't recognize
is the skyline: Confused
Kandinsky, or an airplane,
in half, on its side.
No windows, painted black,
emitting non-things. Articulated
angles without motion
and flat. Not more
comfortable no more.
Not no more of anything
after the best trip
of an adult life
at eighteen
then twenty-three.
Saw the seams split,
cross-dimensional,
sonic shifts of me
as a kid playing
in an abandoned
apartment building.
This was my last
year at war
with the country.