Image for post
Image for post
(Ernst Haas)

The mornings (on how many will I deduce?)

(…gut-wrenching

-ly) rather fondly

the cat dashing at rest on the counter

fingerprint-blotched panes of floury sky

cut to crumbles with fog’s lackadaisical drift

fragile (heat-chilled pirouetting amok) to the gusty phrase

we slice our better fractions into toasted jagged fifths

likely settled (or do we say, “I am leaving now, dear…”?) just enough

to stand sitting’s abiding oath

(brought lengthwise to this)

a scattering of errands between us

in hold (magnets to move) on the surface (each-to-each on the fridge)

to release after lasts and before firsts

become whimpering and jaded to a (adagio here, please) lackluster finish

if I (in incompetence) strain you

(my one, along with jittery legs of daily-news intake) and only

you

(are my,

then) everything

still

it is these (SSRI) desperate (side-effected) and unique seasons together

strung like retired bad comedians from the ceiling

that elapse (and fold nauseasted, grumpy) and in returning

(you to me) from any post office or skate rink

we get to have them

with (even now and forever too) always

each other

it’s almost time to move the car

from one side of the street

to the other

Every mark pocked a bit of its own diaspora

In the wilderness of dry lightning’s jostling content

Windows wide and covered at 4 am

A humid burst of sulfur stink curls through bathroom windows

and leaks to groggy bedrooms

where we were sounding out Arabic-like gibberish on our sides

And the wind’s highway speeding

Knocking over candles with the flares and flap of drapes

Reeling without durable sleep in the curse of night’s crying blazes

Sweating in and out of it all

Caught in the constant Doppler buzz and drone of oscillating table fans

It’ll bring a rounded hush to us

By morning’s last cedar-tinged blush

In the scrape of coffee grounds hot off the press

To busy us with broken news and noteworthy occurrences

And maybe a jangling pinch of music’s strangest drug

To let us allow our thoughts to themselves

Kick the curbstone

And dance

Inseparable and abstruse

Clinging to each other’s tank tops

By the light of the eggy moon

All through the day

And into whatever all these disparate and strange tattered tomorrows might bring

Well then

Let’s get blitzed on Burmese gin fizzes

And line the bookshelves with empty bottles and missing buttons

Cry each other’s names by neurosis of darker walls

Frameless pictures

And capabilities gone neutral before the vacuum cleaner breaks

As the bandy-branched coastal redwoods go on

Straining for shade as they always have

Long before there was such a place called Oakland

Do not doubt for even a moment that I do not wholly and forever love you

Stilled in the morning’s frustrated glances

Even wordless

Before coffee

A stilted upkeep on this hunkering machine

I heave with the Wurlitzer in my skull

My ever-rehearsing getaway driver white-knuckled

To avert poorly planned escape routes

As that ineffable desire for irreplaceable objects

To get too attached to

Defines more than just a reproach

Or a healthy attitude towards it

Because every breakable thing

Falls to its shattered demise

Eventually

But for you I crawl eagerly from morning’s craggy moan

To cover songs and bluer renditions of screaming fits gone to gray roses

Something to punch along to too

Maybe like a shoulder blade’s tickle or shitty luck’s caustic pangs

I’ll write an opera about your slippers

The flattened black fluff-infused ones you left

Over a goose-shaped beer stain on the carpet

In that dingy small kept place

Where I used to do my living

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store