Who do I inhabit?
Am I a small Mis-step or
a god-almighty Quake,
reaching for a spoon?
Am I an inner tremble
rising from deep in skin or
a cataclysm under
blooded rudderless sponge?
Am I essential tremor
and ordinary collapse, interrupted by
dinner, reproofs, soft words?
Naw.
I am all here.
Dislocated in-place, OK.
I am a blur in the fine print.
So what?
I hover in space.
I know my approximate size now.
Do you know yours?
–so cool now, my un-specificity.
My right pinky can do
what intent refuses
side-to-side, metronomic
–so cool now, my physique-ality,
I live: impossible movement.
I dance: triple-time, at the end of my limbs.
From the shoulder on out, I backbeat
n'Miles would be down with my
floundering forearm.
His warm ruminative
note to himself–followed by
lovely blaat to you'ms –lovely blaat to you'ms...
like that! See? I don't just jelly.
I jam.
–so cool, my beat-icality.
Our almost eighteen
jeenius youngest
she says, she says to me, her twitchy pop:
I would so kick your ass at Tai Chi
–a gift to the ages, this kid
–so cool, her wiseacre-ality.
I inhabit the border state
an Edmund in a Trevor world
a poindexter in motion
against the still life.
I know I'm going to fade.
Three to eight years? No sweat.
Will I not write, and not forget?
–so cool, my perspire-acity.
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Marilyn Sands
Linda Treiber
David McClain
koshersalaami
Patty Kane Horrigan
tg within
Salon.com
Comments
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yeah.
We blur don't we?
Like the hummingbird's wing.
rated with love
Rated for game perfection.
When we talked last week, I was so impressed with the way you have found the illness to be a doorway. An impressive obstacle that can either contain you, or open the way to other realms of awareness and creativity. You said you have some stuff to write, a book, or two, or three, or more...I believe you!
you ... open ... windows ... for us ... all ...