I escape from the camera,
breaking through the
red tape
like a finish line.
What difference does it
make if the old house
turns blue?
The surveillance of my feet
reveals slick roads.
Confined actors in a play
poorly scripted.
The wasps I shared my
candies with
sting one another.
The other side of bureaucratic eyes
is a dim place,
shy from old rejections.
Always working,
the wind grumbles
about juggling too many kites.
The rain relieves him
of this data,
but not today.
I hang from my own
clothes line.
My daughter attaches
my umbilical cord.
I am ready to fly.
Agnostic calendars
are great for those
whose lives are spiced
with regret.
On the cutting board,
her right arm.
Home is smart.
Weather is dumb,
beating the bones
out of what already dies.
Scattered,
the months refuse
to coalesce into a year.
She wants what she
can’t have—
a private train.
Her old job
encased amber.
I use a customized daily planner app that helps me track things like appointments, creative projects, and cleaning my house. I decided to use my love for all things analog and screw up my planner page.
Food is amazing. I love the sweetness, the saltiness, the spice. The smoothness and chunkiness. The savory flavor of the meat. But for the next few days I can eat none of it. I had oral surgery this morning.
I have to get a tooth implant because of the emergency extraction I had back in February. This is part one of that. THEY DRILLED AND SCREWED A SCREW INTO MY JAWBONE. Let that sink in.
Insurance wouldn’t pay for anesthetic. There was no way in hell I was going through it without anesthesthetic.
Bleeding is not too bad, but they told me at the office that the pain gets worse. It peaks days 3 though 5. I have had an extremely hard week, and this has not been a good way to end it.
No matter how many surgeries I have, even the ankle fusions and replacements in my future which terrify me with their pain and long layups, I am grateful to be here. Life is so sweet, but I live on its edge and my balance is precarious.
Miniature Moon 