The Fall air hits differentYesterday was windy, It messed up the yard.This morning, not as muchYet the wind is present.The wind hits different this morning.This morning, I look ahead There is a lot of day leftYet I feel something waning.It hits different.
BreatheI cannot see, it is only blackBreathe, eyes closed.I cannot see, it is only blackBreathe. Open your eyesCan you see now?O cannot see, only blackness.Wait, now I see bright lightand everything is blurry.BreatheBack to just seeing black.I cannot see, breathe.Breathe.
Pushing through the dark cloudsThe sun rays announce, they’re here.With them, comes not warmthbut light, the light we needtoday. The light neededFor so many things to moveGrow, continue.I shall continue.I shall grow.I shall move.
Dry hands wring themselvesdry wit, too.We are anxious, on edgebody tense, only the balls ofour feet touching the groundeven while seated.Shoulders tightjaw holding the stressThe cool morning air providesrespite when inhaledBut this body has forgotten howto release.
White plate, 2-egg omeletLeftover potatoes from dinnerHalf of an avocado.Morning conversationBrief yet pleasant, hopefulSometimes just informational.The morning light shields usfrom the alerts and notificationsthat await, that lurkon devices in other rooms.
Declining through neglectand the fear of facingoneself, learning and realizingtruly,truly, how bad things have become.Fallen, disrepair,becoming obsoleteIf only due to a lack of effortand discipline.That momentwhen we decideto give in?That moment where we focuson turning the waywe look forward.
A good recovery shouldmake us less vulnerable tofuture risks.It’s not a “step”.nor an item on a list.It is time. It is a process.Filled with empathy and careFilled with space, emptyand at times, silent.Allowing for anger, grief,denial, deflection, bitterness,depression.Giving way to acceptance, embrace,new knowledge, ingenuity, planning,hope.healing.
He curses the lightbulbsusing a sharp tongueFrustrated that each one dancesthrough life and unlife.In the office, one out.Replaced.In the kitchen, another.Replaced.Front porch, three go out.Replaced.Frustrated, he pulls too hardand sharp shards shatter.Replaced.
You ask, please look at meand I stare into darknessIgnoring your asklooking awayAs if I could see anythingsomething, I’m not surewhat to look forOr whether I ever did see,anything in this darknor anything in the light.
Internal energy storedkinetic, almost hyperLonging for contactLonging to be used to its potential.Released by your touchReleased by your presence.Contact allows flowat first, bottlenecked by excitementthen steady and constantKinetic, almost hyperWaiting for that touch.
Reciprocation isn’t mandatorybut it is nice.Reciprocation isn’t a requirementbut it is appreciated.Reciprocation isn’t automaticbut the effort is recognizedand will be thought aboutcontinually, warmly.Reciprocation can be silentand can speak volumes.Reciprocation isn’t normalwhich makes it valued.
The hurry is my cue to slowThe sense of time, warped byfalse deadlines and the greed of othersIgnoring the signI clock in. I submit my work.I meet those deadlines.I tell myself, I will slowon the weekend.Ignoring the signI collapse on the weekend.
I start in one corner of the gardenslowly moving the water spray back and forthwhile the other corners awaitAwait their chance for inputAwait their chance for nourishmentI move to another cornerwhile the other corners waitAnd that first corner has time toingest and process.
The window open throughthe night, to let the Delta Breezecool the upper floors.We sept well in the coolerrooms, breathing easierdreaming happier.We wake to hot coffeeand the start of another week.The window open throughout.
Ignorance on horsebackwearing cowboy hatsto whip and round up those whohave already suffered, strived,and survived.We chose to be another obstacleIn lieu of a helping handWe add imagery to a library of the pastthat we cannot escape.
I don’t tolerate your delaybecause I choose not toI want the answer faster thanyou can provide one.And though understoodand though I do want a well-thoughtmeaningful, and truthful replyIt’s that delay on which I dwell.It’s that delay that holds my focusIt’s that delayIt is that delay.
I did not charge overnightforgetting to plug in the devices.This morning, they are drainedas am Iwaking up feeling more tired than beforeturning in last night.I envy those devicesnow plugged in andreceiving direct energyAs that luxury eludes meas I turn on another deviceand anotherand anotherSo that I may smile and nod beforemy colleagueson screenBattery drained.
We trim the edgesand control the heightautomating thefeedingand feeding for rapid growth.Single file lines!From one container to anothera product of consumptionand mass control.Livelihoods depend on this controlat the expense of others’livelihoods.
The draw of the morning sunthe cool breezethe promise of a new dayIs weaker than the draw ofthe false light fromcold metal and glassrectanglesOur attention owned bySomething manufactured andThat sunlight passes by.
It rained during the nightEnough to make the ground dampand the trees hopeful.Enough to freshen the air,cooling and cleaningClouds block the suna respite from the heatWindows open, deep breaths.Let us begin.