my dog has depression,
can’t drag itself out of bed; it lays in the kitchen and looks out the window,
wondering, worrying, whining about the light - about the window and the view; it never has
anything much to say,
or if it does,
it doesn’t amount to much, anyway; but it’s okay, it’s just my dog -
it’s not me, anyway; my dog has blue eyes - wish they were brown; all my friends have brown,
and they all seem happy; my dog can’t walk straight; it’s loud,
it’s annoying,
sometimes it smells; my dog, my dog, my dog, I tell you about my dog;
sometimes I think, it’s more important than me, I mean -
I’m not my dog, anyway; I’m not as interesting; I can’t come and say hello and all those things
that make you people smile and giggle and laugh; and when there’s a pause - a really awkward pause -
I can’t look at you
and have all that - your - worry just disappear, like that; I once screamed and howled and danced at
the moon, and my dog just - stared; but does it really matter - my dog was on a comfy bed, and
the way it sat; the same place where it sleeps -
I tell you about my dog,
I tell you about my dog;
I tell you about it all the time, for

I don’t know how to talk about

me

I wait in time
Like an ornamental vase
Sitting on the dusty shelf

As legs hang on rusty hinges
the strides of doorways
lesser long

wisdom crisps its palms 
up to the hearths of winter
on walks

Older finds joy 
watching little jelly movers
under the snowy leaves 
of autumn's fall

There is freedom 
in holding back;
experiencing exuberance
perched high in cedar
witnessing the now moments
of a uranian world
from a fifth dimensional view

Knowing that Love
sourced from the heart
affects the observed
just as true.

It is a torture of sort. The uneasiness of where the road can lead to, with only a few things that we know and hold true.. we endlessly hold out, all of our lives, we hold a lantern into the thick dark fissure of life until something of habitual significance comes along…then, we linger, again, for an encore.