I’ve got this Rolodex emotion
Whose contacts intertwine
Like a bramble of commotion
When I’ve dropped another line
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I’ve got this Rolodex emotion
Whose contacts intertwine
Like a bramble of commotion
When I’ve dropped another line
Man. Life can get pretty weird,
and if that means something
supernatural or uncanny, then
I’ll take it! Anything other than
Ugly normal, is fine by me…
Most things can’t be unsaid,
though in my heart—
under the mess I’ve made—they
can be understood, in time
with patience and surrender.
I’ll always surrender.
I just haven’t got the skin,
I just haven’t got the heart
not to know better.
If we can accept ourselves
in life, and that in this life
we’re living, the right way
and the wrong way, mostly
aren’t ever in alignment
with our true nature of self,
rather it’s often
sideways we must go, sideways
like the pebble in the stream
knows only one direction,
and that chaos when reversed
reveals itself as precisely
the way it ought to be.
The television’s on.
It’s freezing in here.
I should probably be asleep, but I’m not.
It’s 4:53. It’s always 4:53, when, click, the heat turns on.
Now the draft from the window’s competing with the dull heat, which smells like last years dust, pouring through the vent, above the door, which leads to the living room where the TV’s still on.
In about an hour the sun will be up and it will be another morning.
I can’t tell yet whether or not I’ll be excited or scared, but either way, I have to write my grandmother—thanking her for the letter she sent a couple days prior—she used to fill the cards with glitter but doesn’t anymore…
Perhaps there’s a glitter shortage, I don’t know.
I’ve been pulling my beard out again, which I don’t like, but still do. Why? A doctor would probably claim it’s nerves but by this point in life I know better than that.
It’s funny really, thoughts, how they come and go as easily as a hair can be plucked from your chin.
If I had eggs in the fridge I’d probably boil some for breakfast but I don’t have any because yesterday while shopping I’d debated prices in my head for what seemed like too long to be debating prices of eggs, causing an uncomfortable feeling I just couldn’t shake, making me anxious and aware that I’d been standing in the isle for what seemed like eons though was probably only a couple minutes, still, too long to be debating whether or not I wanted to pay 2.39 or 2.99 for a dozen of eggs.
The heat feels good now, while the right side of my face warms up, the left side is still dealing with the draft from the window.
Common sense tells me to close the window though my better judgement says to just let it be. What’s the point, really?
It’s 5:06 now. It’s always 5:06.
The repetitive nature of this statement keeps recurring in my mind as if the idea isn’t fully mine, though I use it anyway.
Perhaps it’s my conscious mind coming back to me? Perhaps it’s programming I just don’t have the strength to deny, either way…whatever.
It’s 8:08 on the East Coast. My mother’s probably pouring coffee, reading the morning news. My brother’s probably already dragged himself from bed and into work. My nephew’s to school. My sister-in-law to her studio where she makes jewelry from metal and her imagination.
Their routine gives me comfort because right now I don’t have one.
This pandemic has us all in a pretty weird state of affairs, though, my affairs have always been pretty weird now that I think about it.
At least I’m writing again. That’s good.
Everything is pretty all right right now—knock on wood.
And what if this is as good as it gets? Hog wash.
At least it’s warm in here, closing the window, watching the sun rise.
My nail beds are long. I’ve always been told that. “You’ve got piano hands,” they said once, go figure, I don’t play—if I did this would probably make for a better story though, well, you know.
Turning off the TV seems irrational as it’ll just get turned on again tonight, unless, unplugging the TV—Ah! That’s better.
Insomnia, it’s the breakfast of champions.
Now, where was I? Oh yes, the letter.
She watched him rage
with the rapid tide
like an oil painting
left to dry,
each stroke was wild
beauty, behind
him boats full throttle
calm as the horizon.
I flipped myself
like a coin
then flipped again
just to see
if heads or tails
would land twice
like a pollinating
honey bee
I figured if I had a
50/50 chance
I might as well
take a look see
and feel what lie on the
other side of dying
rather than spend another
long day trying
to convince myself
I’d be better off another house wife
crying
into coffee
or screaming into laundry
relying on the offerings
of innocent smiles
casting unintentional
shadows on my coffin
of denial
marred by my own
self loathing
which like a
preacher’s devotion
I took such pride
in approaching
solitude
like a potion
endlessly encroaching
on my own
well being
I admit I was broken
so I flipped that coin
heads
then I flipped myself
tails
and discovered
this notion
that
heads or tails I was going
Going
Gone
with the wind
not a rolling stone
or a tumbleweed
not a nickel or dime
not a honey bee
no I was a wreck
cast far out to sea
but that’s just the thing
it took all that to see
moving West wouldn’t be
all that easy for me
no nothing is lucky
nothing is free
except the glow of bonfire
in the dead of tree
where dancing shadows
take form and
I’m just
understandably me — hell
it’s already 1:03
and I’m hungry
but
I’ve got no food to eat —
so call it in the air
no
on second thought
I’ll just let this one be.
just because you can get everything
doesn’t mean that you should get everything
because everything
doesn’t really mean everything
when it’s all you’ve got
There are places
for people like us
under bridges
gutters
dumpsters
caves
out of sight
and out of mind
naked and alone
where only those
with torches
pitchforks
and love
can find us.
The more my browser
tells me it’s out of date
the more, out of date
I feel. Perhaps
it’s time for an update.
Perhaps, it’s time for a meal.