she is wiping her cool breath on me! she drops her leaves there, so I can foot them when I walk. is it the northside of chicago here? is it boise to the north? is it highschool, is it being 26, still? is it twins, the same person, the signs, the only children, the histories, the halved lives? is she later on in gone months, or is she samewise when before she existed? not missing the spiders of oregon (though don't I still love them?) is it being unemployed, is it the fish in the street, is it the p-i-z-z-a... the caffeine craze, the early mornings & kitchen floors. the sound of my sweet dog as she growls and snaps at the innocents, wanting to caress her iridescent fur... is it timed, now, after it's stopped and it's beginning to grow again? and as my health itself flourishes upwards with a dramatic flourish of the heart.
Showing posts with label growls. Show all posts
Showing posts with label growls. Show all posts
09 October 2010
09 September 2009
when the seasons are falling in love
the pink reasons falling in love
My head explodes and mine mouth burns. Here, in the kitchen at checkerclothed table I sit trying, typical typing. The dog collapses beneath, only a crimped & done-up tail to see. The remote sounds of jazz, the behind-me tweet of a housefinch no doubt swaying on the windblown line just outside my attic window. They fight, the finches, and the red breasted nuthatch swoops in with its little tubular stone of a body, beak apoint like a needle, to chip away at the black oil sunflower seeds. I hear the wind in the trees & the sun is hot on my bare neck, just visible over the horizon of window. The pink rose from another day still perfect in brown medicine bottle- still insane in its perfume, enough do disbelieve a smell like could be a natural one! and if it wasn't we'd shake our heads in revulsion at such a saccharin scent.
My head explodes and mine mouth burns. Here, in the kitchen at checkerclothed table I sit trying, typical typing. The dog collapses beneath, only a crimped & done-up tail to see. The remote sounds of jazz, the behind-me tweet of a housefinch no doubt swaying on the windblown line just outside my attic window. They fight, the finches, and the red breasted nuthatch swoops in with its little tubular stone of a body, beak apoint like a needle, to chip away at the black oil sunflower seeds. I hear the wind in the trees & the sun is hot on my bare neck, just visible over the horizon of window. The pink rose from another day still perfect in brown medicine bottle- still insane in its perfume, enough do disbelieve a smell like could be a natural one! and if it wasn't we'd shake our heads in revulsion at such a saccharin scent.
The dog woofs low and emits habitual growls. They're like hiccups, they can't be helped. The yerba maté chai + peppermint still warm and thoroughly enthurmosed. My ankles and cheeks & everything inbetween, enthurmosed.
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