in the basement
where we keep our little gravities-
apparently the earth gave way
and hell announced a cavity.
allow for strange attractors
to collapse before they're intimate.
and never take the stairs
until you've locked the room beneath it.
according to the rule
there may be echoes from the chamber
a misery of wraiths
or a raven in the manger.
or a hackle of contempt
the very air, a shrike of drone.
an epistle from a hornet's nest-
at the back of our throats.
in the very, very quiet
where we keep our little maladies-
apparently the basement is as good a place as enmity.
allow for cain and abel
and perhaps you have the half of it,
swinging from a hook in every room we've heard it laughing in.
according to the rule
there may be black so black it's blackening
and everywhere the hoards of wane
dispel the moon
because.

What you don’t know is
that I don’t know either.
What makes you stay inside on sunny days
has pestered me as well my whole life.
Shadows of things that would never happen
grew ominous, loomed over my cowering heart
so being a defensive, obsessive ruminator
my hope to make the leaves in my yard
stand still against gusts of wind –
become a psychotherapist
a posturing senex
trailing his wounded child behind
all made OK
with a license to insult you
pretending I know something
you don’t.

Will global warming disappear (?)
just because I know thousands of facts
about worms after rain
about how so many weeds pop up
in freshly-rained soil
underneath even dominating magnolias
and you pay me
to wizen you.
You stare like a mesmerized gazelle
counting the lions
a whole dozen of them
drawing a circle around your life in tall grass.

I want to tell you
run from the need for a resting place
from the pointless mobius strip
of therapy’s semantic banter.
I wish you would tell me
to just be quiet for once
invite me to hike a trail
protected by angels
with just so much sun
enough rain to nurture
and the lions yes
the lions like Fu Dogs
guard the entry to the hills.

I always forget
it isn’t my frustrated reverie
my angst about knowing
how important it is
not to need to know anything
this constant inability
not to daydream
that brought you here
to a leather throne
with an Olympus digital recorder
so you can capture every
single
word.

I flick the lighter on and off nervously.
The scratching echolalia is deafening in the stillness.
Flick. Hiss. Flick. Hiss.
The metal cap feels like the only heat for a great radius in space and time.
The cracks in the gravel under my feet hold salvation.
Moonlight drowns visible heaven and thinly covers the ground.
Wet and silvery, it will freeze my blood.
In the far distance, a soft rushing sounds.
A glow rises behind a hill in the road, and headlights pop over the summit.
My pulse picks up, I tread backwards, thumb extended.
Tires slow, crackling.
"Where to?"

When walking through the woods
I heard him.
He spoke simple,concise.
Words more harsh then arctic winds
drifting past my heart.
No real pain though,
I was so cold my body was numb.
He had become a raw irritation.
With a smile on his face
He took his ax,
split my confidence like birch wood,
sprinkled the kindling of my ego
around me.
“It’s just not what i thought it would be,
I hope we can still be friends.”
He never told me what he though it was.