I am surrounded by stacks
of papers and books (including the last Whole Earth
Catalog) cross-legged at my iMac in my modern studio;
midmorning light thru dappled blinds shaded by
midsummer leaves of backyard treelimbs
swaying softly (hypnotic) bird-chatter and coo-cooing
distant with traffic tires’ rhythmic-rubbing
of asphalt & hot metal; jays’ shriek assaults the sky—
I am breathing here.
I am myself & more—the engine muscle rev
away around the corner (I imagine fumes mixing
w/ neighborhood atmosphere)—the strange
intonations of my subvocal voice. Train horn blares.
Sick-feeling in pit of my stomach.
I wonder if Kayla and the girls made it to the library
for the concert. I wonder if this poem is going
Wonder why I started writing
a poem, when I meant to just start writing—
The big diesel idling there on Atwood.
Honk honk! Annoyed motorist? Coo-cooing continues,
train rolls on and it’s been like ~30 minutes (?)
me sitting here and now a buzzer plane zooting
thru head sky & breast zone there was a thought in there
somewhere (ah the coo-cooing coo-cooing there
was something) I wanted to say, I knew it; but it will have
to wait till tomorrow.