a day late and a syllable short

just because I can

doesn’t mean I want to

I’m too old for it

 

I was promised lemons

has anyone seen my Ikigai?

I sat it just there 

on the windowsill to sun

to catch the breeze

I had my eye on it

until the Murphy spilt

into cracks and crevices seeping

has anyone seen my lemon?

I was promised lemons 

in the cracking of a cough: I am weary

in a dark room, still

too early for the sun

pushing out a fever 

in a clammy-hot sweat

am I in it or past

I knew it was coming 

no chills yet

just the sludgy-haze

of breathing shallow

clear but deeply crackling 

craving Avgolemono

setting my headspace to right

ready to rule as-is always 

what got me through 

worser things than this

things near broke me

things that did determined 

this will not - up n’ at ‘em 

Little Caprica - get ‘er done

eye goo

I’m exhausted tomorrow 

have I mentioned that before?

if I haven’t, certainly 

I’ve thought it too many times 

suddenly I’m craving sugar

but I’m inherently salty 

Oh Caprica, you’re a tight-lipped lady

stuck solid, fim-aly 

in the middle of X;

holding It together 

with duc-ky tape 

and minty glue

rubbing spit 

on scrapes and scratches;

holding the leash tight

on the berserker within

purposefully emphatic

kindness won’t kill me yet

 

somebody no one knows

IV

bells sound off here-there

usually off-minute:

I’m generally confused 

on the what-why

III

tomatoes and carrots 

abundant and flavorful 

the fruit? underwhelms 

II

Birdie caught a bird 

cupped in my palm 

it’s last breath-I watched it take 

I owed it that at the least

since I sat it (gently) 

atop the rubble heap

across the square

paper its’ funerary 

I

yesterday I craved

to take the bottle and burn

the stress from my body mind soul

instead, there was a pill waiting 

to help help me breathe