SATURDAY, OCTOBER, 2PM
Still everything around me. The train
behind the house. The neighborhood strangely quiet.
Nobody mowing their lawn.
The sun still bold and up. And I am focused
on nothing in particular, but focused.
My license is up to date. I have car insurance.
Tomorrow I will have my tags
good to go, and I will
clean the house.
No Miles Davis blowing through. Linda's notes
without love before her name. The only sound, a dog
somewhere down the street, breathing
hard against a fence, pacing for a way
through, a way out.
I am thinking. And I keep
cutting a little bit more of my hair.
Here 18 days,
and I haven't unpacked a sock.
Thinking, and there is still so much day left.
Now a plane. I am dreaming about
taking a nap. I am dreaming about a woman
I think I know. My clothes are coming off
a piece at a time. 4:10, a shirt. 4:22, a sock.
It's almost time to go,
and there's no one to notice
whether the shower is hot,
whether the cats are in,
whether I am loving anything back,
returning a mouth
for an arm, a kiss for nothing.
Samsara Quarterly, Stirring, Taint Magazine, Eclectica, DMQ Review, MiPo, Wind, etc.
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