7

7

Home. 

Home.

In a few weeks the fat writing spider on the deck will disappear. 

The paper seed pods of the golden rain tree will fall. 

The fog will hold on to the grass for hours. 

Suburban residential rules dictate that the wreath on the front door be changed to something orange or golden. 

Pumpkins will sprout on each stoop beside pots of mums, manipulated to bloom too late, becoming ironically representative of the wrong season. 

We will begin to batten down the barbecue, unpack the cover for the glider, insulate the garden spigots. 

The fire pit and the earlier darkness. 

The last cut of grass. 

The sigh of summer fading. 

6

5

5

Double underscore. Left open scissor. A Late closed door.

Flat cracked glasses. Walk the hall. Straight letterman passes. 

Steam washed spaghetti tray. Cacophony of pheromones. Biology and anthropology at play. 

The red ink and the hard nose. The doves and the crows. 

Pleated skirt sanguine. Squeak on the line. 

Take away what you steal and keep for glory days.

4

4

A society of hyenas who think themselves wolves. Don't go armed unless the intent is to take life away. Don't finger the trigger if not to pull it. Consider gravity. Consider light. Consider waves. Particles of energy released , scattered again, transformed. The surface of the pond rippled. The strings humming. Boxes of cats stacked infinitely. Some saber toothed tigers, some Siamese kittens, some bones, all in the same scene. End scene for one player. Red pools and the hyenas gather, laughing. It's all a show. Curtain.

3

3

Fragile. Something vulnerable. Tiny creature with closed ears and blurry blue eyes. Great grandmother's crazed porcelain. A glacier. My ego. Balanced on thin stacked shims. Shifting in the shaking. Tilting with the ticking of time. Hips aching. Attempt to preserve dust. Pause. Repeat. Memories in the ether. A song. A dance.

2

2

This little light of mine. One bulb refuses to unscrew. Another is burned out. Those new fluorescents don't last as long as they say. The whole fixture is dusty. I think spiders live there. I'm gonna let it shine. The milk glass vase on the uneven table cloth. Sweet pink lip gloss on a tired face. Chrome headlight rims on a rusty VW bus. New penny in the change tray. Let it shine over the whole wide world, I'm gonna let it shine, let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.

1

1

Iron weeds. How did those get there, blooming, already? Is it really late enough for iron weeds to bloom? How did the light grow so long so fast? The dogs were just shedding and now geese form deep Vs in the fog. The last fireflies float ephemeral. Another dirty towel, another empty mug, pile up, spill over, boil over the cook pot, the filthy stove, the unopened mail. My soul is tender, blistered and sore. Less ill fitting shoes, more running blind.