I lost
The placement
Of my hands today
And neither
Foot felt
Left or right
I let my
Limbs play in
Periphery
To see
What happens
Past my sight
I peeked
A world all
Most forgotten
Warm and misty
Buoyant brain
Oh how
I miss this
Mad not knowing
If I will
Make it
Home again
-me
Painting by Gaylord Sali
Raindrops
Thumping
On the roof
Above
Like thick
Fingers
Drumming
Is this weather
As bored
By waiting
For its full
Self
To empty
As I am
With waiting
For me?
-me
Image: Waiting (for the rain to stop falling)
by Marcia Zottino
In the haze
Before sleep
I softened some
And let myself
Believe
Not in any one thing
But just at last
As me finally
Again to feel
Something
And then that night
I dreamt that you
Came back so sweet
Once more to me
I woke up warm
In early love
And dark morning
Confusion then
A wrenching heave
A single tear
And I remembered
Quick
Why my head
And heart and skin
Instead have chosen
Layers thick
Of anhedonic steel
And agnostic
Non-identity
–me?
Photograph: One Single Tear, by Sarah Moore
As crow calls forth
And cat leans in
Deep instinct stirs
To feed again
When crow calls back
And cat remains
We share the pull
To open veins
-me
Painting: Sita and Sarita, by Cecil Beaux
Sitting still
Right here
Will guide me
But I’m afraid
The fate I’d meet
It’s not the feelings
Locked in ice
That drives
But the empty
Void beneath
-me
photograph of Abraham Lake, by Gavin Hardcastle, found here: https://www.fototripper.com/abraham-lake-photography-tips/
There’s a jackhammer
Beside my brain
Jostling bricks
And shaking thoughts
That used to keep me sane
-me
I carried
Your “new” love
On my back
For years
Without knowing
Except I knew
I was
Raising our child
Loving you
And our home
Mostly alone
While you
Erratically
Erotically
Traveled, and roomed,
And rode next to
Each other
With increasing
Frequency
And I
With less
Communication
Except
Promises
All the while
That I could trust
You
Both
And I did
-me
Photo of Junk Lady from Labyrinth
The sweet silver bows
Tied fast to my toes belie
Blackness in my chest
– me
Painting: Satin Bow by Roxanne Dyer
She said,
In her softest
Kindest
Self-help voice
“Find your inner hummingbird,
And not your inner vulture, please.”
But oh
That second
Sacred
Hunching bird
The one who looms
With talons curled
And beak
For scraping bone
And ripping meat
The one who
Needs and waits
For death and feeds
Who faces rot
So we do not
That is the beast
I miss and lost
And now
I sense her
Circling
And see
Her shadow
Once again
I’m bellowing,
“Welcome Old Girl!
It’s time to feast
There’s a death
In me
Needs picking
Clean.”
-me
Artist Unknown
The day after
Dies with
An unseen sigh
A quick puff
Into nothing
A bond that
Never was
Because
It isn’t now
And ashes
Never thawed
One single
Ice-cold thing
-me
Photograph by Remsphoto
sometimesihatemycat 