oh yeah. ok, this. and this. a steady growl and a squeally wheeled stampede will surely find me. phantasms will roll over me and trample me, i just know it.
a vibrating turbulence thunders and rumbles underground, overground.
a seethe, a grinding roil, a change—i feel, the trees feel, the very firmament
feels the weight. snap awake, sort of. whether i wish
to or not.
monday. monday means garbage. monday means garbage/recycle day and that means early cacophony. clang da bing da boom.
my husband didn't forget to put out the containers.
that's a good start.
here's another one: i want to get outside and hum my spirit back in.
walk down the driveway in light rain. ready to roll the plastic bins back to the garage.
as i flip the lids closed, i notice, in the bottom of one, bright, sugary white
chunks—airy polystyrene left behind—stuff that bonds, like bone, rock, prayer.
i want to see what an eye, sharply focused, will reflect back at me:
mirrored sky, fiery leaves, golden pine needles in night rain's puddle leavings.
what about me wanting a lens that sees me
not as i am
not as what the light of day makes me
too much of vanity and reverie
but one that sights what i will be
atoms connecting and disconnecting
microscopically
stardust, house dust, weed and skin
(click here to read more).
of course, it is mostly unverifiable, mostly conjecture—until
some chemistry, some physics, those blocks of albescent pearl: the always
nature of tweaked molecules, the descent from algae
from plankton that swam the old waters waiting
waiting for us to unloose them
waiting for us to deliver testament
how we go from here
where we go from here.
