Fahrenheit 105

I’m not sure why I moved here

when it was the land there

that always calmed me 

and water that renewed

perhaps I needed a walkabout

when suadade hit hard

and hindsight struck

a dog named Birdie

there’s a tiny red car driving 

back-n-forth in the square 

below my bedroom window 

where chirping echoes 

another on the sill lays still 

from heat or failure to fly

six am, the cacophony began

the tiny red car, chipping nonstop 

‘bought being woke 

Sweetness sleeps on the pillow 

beside me napping 

the photo comes out blurry

in one hand 

I hold a squirming dog 

on a leash tightly 

feet planted firmly

manifestation and the wind

if I meditate on a thing it will….

well fuck me, here comes a tornado…

the accidental poet

remember when I meant to write 

paperback novels - frayed at the edge

but the heaviness of my words

laid bare a soul crashing on rocks jagged

closed-off rooms confuse me

the ringing in my ears

is inordinately loud 

amidst the stillness 

of unconditioned air

if I move to the room 

cooled by an oscillating fan

it becomes a humming

and I can breathe, shallow 

drowsily with a bit of vertigo

I’ve never needed 

alcohol or pills to feel afloat