Calmness leads to claws
flexing, with eyes
closed or keenly
narrowed and fixed on
the sleightness of
disturbed air between
my incoming finger tip
and his whiskers or
incisors.
An assumed cute boop
results in bloodshed
or rough abrading licks,
my hand or his meal
depends on whose needs
prevail.
A strange noticing
paralyzes my next
action, any reaction
either way, staying in
or leaving his clutch
will be painful and
forgotten and
forgiven before
dinner time.
Regardless, I assume
ownership of him,
his care, and any
injury that results
from loving him as
I do.
intention
what if we never were alone?
Just past the post,
keep walking.
Let your neck flex,
eyes raise, and
lock on a few future
intents.
Have patience.
Be gracious,
unfazed.
Then, step away
from devices.
Let loose
from disguises and
expect some fatigue;
face to face
is hard
with all of
this noticing
without
notifications.
the broken heart of an optimist
fights to stay open
without bearing closed fists
relies on disagreement
about whether holding back is best
notices that it hasn't noticed in a long while
launches into song, smiles,
and sings long after the song ends
and ends long after
their longing heart mends.
but and even as it lays shattered
after defeats
it glows up, shows up, and makes sure
every piece beats.
the mourning after daylight savings
sigh,
that extra hour,
overdrawn from
our common savings
paid biannually
into
fall and spring escrow.
an automatic
interest free
deposit;
comfort
and collective
sighs of ‘thank god,
more time.
as alarms buzz
and threaten
to steal silence,
as you push down
into your pillow
to reap 60
more minutes
spent in bed,
as you burrow
and bury
the oncoming
under dream,
this is
the moment
that later
some one will
say
i barely remember
i was tired
so
i fell back asleep.
this
light beholding
made dull
and consumed
without reverie,
this is
sleight of hand.
we know time
is scarce
and that
bothers me.
past or present,
even my
devices arrive
on the shores
of a new day
before me.
my clocks
reset themselves.
the stove,
microwave
and coffeemaker
stopped caring
years ago.
an extension
should be a
blessing.
instead
the day
indicts me
with accessible
energy
that will
likely be reaped
later
by either my
employer
or
the commute.
oubliette
Hey.
Slowdown.
Answer the phone.
Text back.
Return to us.
Don't kid yourself,
or stop kidding yourself,
every early stage of connection is
a fragile powder coated gossamer-like
and
sometimes invisible opportunity-
if you can’t see it,
it’s because you aren’t,
or
maybe won’t.
Like, for example,
right there
you head down and
me in the foreground.
Without even trying
you made damage happen,
like UV radiation,
unknowingly.
But intentionally
to this visitor at your doorstep,
who was forgotten
as they stand before you.
5 minutes max and any
thin skinned relationship could be cooked.
You know you have effed it up critically
if after an amiable arrival
you notice a faint sadness streak across their face;
so notice.
a teardrop comet
chased closely by a silent satellite of acceptance
and finally an awkward orbit of compliance
to leave
is not the escape velocity
anyone wants to feel.
Geez.
It may have taken
a million years
for their light
to reach this moment.
and you,
then,
without a word
disappear.
The body knows when to go.
Particles disperse.
Waves crash.
Void Begins.
Discomfort: an early warning bell
for any flight response.
Don't blame this shit move on anything that’s gone viral.
We think that the last two years
taught us to accept
being co-opted
in being ghosted, iced, and simmered-
nope,
peeps have been doing this to other peeps
in doorways
for years.
Pay attention: interruptions
are more complex than frustrating work stoppages;
especially for colleagues who crave invitation.
The slower they fade from your threshold,
literally a non-space designed between real spaces
to keep one place from being in
or becoming the other place,
the stickier and thicker that relationship might be,
at least to them.
Without question,
only a sociopath wouldn't want to be a someone
that other someones want to say hello and
good-bye to.
And the silent departure is a killer.
pronoia
[for dixie]
This space is
very quiet.
Not silent but
not not silent either.
It sighs and heaves
cries sometimes
deceives.
It seems like
I suddenly appear.
Murky. Maudlin.
Without warning.
Severe.
Astonished as fog
surrounds unfastened
memories.
The fickle reminders
that I could have
gone anywhere
other than
here.
words keep wolves at bay 