some mornings
even my hair
seems to behave,
when i don't need
it to -- like weather
or feelings.
after
today, i was content.
i finally got my bed
just the way i like it,
settled in, surrounded
by cush, and plush and
(dead insects)
despite
a growing discomfort
in my belly, i'm still fine;
saltine remedy, mint tea
potion.
a lovely girl asked
me to catch dreams for her.
of course i will, in jars like
fireflies, natural lanterns
to light up your
imagination.
but the
aching in my belly
seems intent on staying
until addressed appropriately--
sneakily
creeping up on me
like adolescent shenanigans--
acknowledgement is
reminiscence, the kind you
don't fancy at 1:00 am.
so i mulled it over,
going home; like
a kick in the shins,
it made me realize
that the little place
in me, maybe a vein
or vesicle, is still
missing.
it used to
be an *****, a limb;
in months it shrank to
an extremity, a digit,
finally infinitesimal--
but still
missing.
(now) i'm having trouble
making my peace
with the fact that you'll have
that artery, or capillary,
or soul atom for awhile
or forever, maybe.
but i think, i posit
in fact, perhaps
by march, a few
months more,
i'll forget and
be able to say
*"it's yours."
old summer loves.