I
I think it was the newness
of the Other that beckoned
‘cause what was was not
working into exhaustion
living at the speed of light
II
yet here in the Other
every day I feel drugged
down, perseverance
through the sheer will
of little Caprica
and a wet nose that startles
III
someday when the river calls
the ferryman will find me
any which way I go…
a steady stream
of headlight coming-going
through window shears
I watched while laying
still in the coolness
of four-thirty a.m.
I wondered, eyes half shut
where did you come from
where are you going so early
on a Saturday in the quiet
a soft wet nose shifted
toward me while I cooed
soft and low, ‘sweet love, sleep…’
If I could I would pull flesh from sinew and wrap it ‘round her as a blanket while she press-pushes hard against me to sleep in the morning coolness and I have mere inches for myself.
tuck them away
in the coolness to covet
admire them on every opening
reach for them when ready;
process the guilt
of wasting a minuscule amount
convincing yourself it’s okay,
“I can’t deal with the seeds anyway”
with the mess of juicing
I
I’m always fighting
predicative text now in two
languages as if one weren’t
enough - Birdie won’t go walk
every day all day patience
is required here
II
overwhelmed in the quiet
of a room half lit
something outside…
my heart breaks
for her shivering and ears prickled
inconsolable when I awoke earlier
to escape any madness
I can’t pinpoint but no….
I am thwarted and there She is
lost in the unheard
III
the entire country knows
I have a mouth on me now
when wild dogs let out
to roam and terrorize
come at my girl and me
on a perfectly good walk
my tongue cuts the quiet
and eyes like daggers
scatter anyone near;
once a decade or two
I am not myself
I’ve grown
to dislike tomato seeds
gelatinous to the touch to the tongue
and messy foods
to my eyes unappealing
to dislike disorder and yet
my bed stays unmade
fur on the floor even after a sweep
dishes always needing a wash
mind slightly controlled chaos