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Sleepless & So: Addled


Squirrels wake me up

–not so cute! squirrels

–not spinnin’ on bird feeder squirrels

–not Chip ‘n Dale polite squirrels, either

they

blast

err sirens

in lieu of

alarm

–which understandably,

comes along for the ride

to wee hours

squirrel!

 

ER

. . .

figurative or no,

these

foaming at the mouth

nut collectors

crawl out from

inner reaches

colored grey

–nattering and gnawing

skipping & jump-

squirrel!

in possibilities

colored black

 

as a studied anti-vaxxer

in a LARGELY undecided

life

peppered with

one-ways

& signposts

& fences

& dead ends

erected by

squirrel!

 

(more decisive rodents)

sleep runs limpin’ away

 

stuffing

squirrel!

cheeks

with hopeful acorns

when I find them

–usually by twisting an ankle as

they appear blessedly under

squirrel!

gratitude lists

and

pause

 

squirrel!

 

itive thinking

is hard won in

PJ’s

though. . .

 

the best I can do

at 3 a.m.

is entice them w Costco-sized canisters

of “you’ll regret that tomorrows”

and choke them w vapors that taste of nascent

squirrel!

 

to tame them and trick them

onto hamster wheels crowning me

(one nut at a time)

in cacophonous racket

I must needs

drown

–in media streaming

squirrel!

my leaky eyeballs

red.

 

 

 

 

Hashtag


 
the Rock’ docs’ dictate

we can swelter in place. . .
 
 

–no beach allowed

unless as moving target,

–no gathered crowd

unless it’s policed,

–no trips around

unless to ma & de∙pop’s stores

–wear masks

buying masks

where

buying into

is heavily encouraged

–by means of

socially suffocating pressure

& raised eyebrows

–the only expression left

and

be∙wildered at best,

yet we

be caged at worst. . .

furiously tapping keyboards

(mind controlled mute)

instead of intuition

(too retro)

–thanking the hosts

(of event 201)

((a party Gates didn’t crash))

–for protecting

vir∙us

us

and instilling

vir∙us

us

with the

fear of

GOP

GOD.

Why I Can’t Visit Your. . .

I am

the only thing

keeping you in this world

–by degrees of separation–

alive

it seems important

I seem important

by virtue

of the mad Dash

shared

& gauntlet run

 

–ellipses now–

my stutter implies a more

that isn’t

still I

preserve your isness

in my own

–a fragile offering held close with both hands–

 

looking out through

eyes colored

you

taking in through

views shaded

you

listening with

your attention

–I hear a different song

a million piece mosaic

firing in my mind that’s

set to better background music. . .

 

a kaleidoscope

picture

as predictably

changing

as it is

ephemerally

formless

as it lends

precious

meaning

to all that’s

fleeting

–our spirit

careening

closer to the

Void

 

Off the Leash

in a field pocked

& rife with weeds

a woman without flower

watches

–floating filaments

considers

–dandelions before name

Turning, she

recalls

those golden wishes living,

as hope wafts by

–like death

her

Dali dream

–reforms

. . .

melting,

morphing

it

reforms

. . .

–swinging

stems & leaves.

sisyphus (et al)


 
it’s harder to crush ants

these days

wiping out their rank & file
 

from sill to slop

paper toweling, oh. . .

how many?

a hundred?

two?

without really

considering the kill. . .

without eyeballing

their collectivism

–an observation requiring

readers few retrieve—

 

that community unity breaks down

divided by even an inch

let alone 6

(metric measure included)

and their sense of direction

is masked

under blasts

of Raid

. . .

more than just an expression,

their back & forth

with crumbs

from counter

–heady booty indeed—

is a

total team effort

(and no doubt, hard labor)

a reward

that leaves me

undiminished.

 

it’s harder to kill ants

these days,

–at loose ends–

the magnification

of such an act

is

unavoidable.

 

Thaw

 
you have to ask yourself. . .

in what way has the Internet improved the world?

the ability to say anything that
 

comes to mind

when it comes to mind

–in the heat of anger

–the knee-jerk of retaliation

–the flush of infatuation

to people you’ll never meet?

people lacking face

–so there’s no losing it—

and even vegans cannabilize faceless folk in

“good” conscience

possessed of a voice

that screams

(and echoes)

(and parrots)

soundlessly

typing, typing, typing

–in stereo

in a world where no one listens

everyone eavesdrops

the deafened muting

of all that matters

–unheard.

 

 

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