I do not watch the news anymore.
Coffee still tastes the same,
though I've never seriously enjoyed it.
A lie.
I do. I did.
Life of late has been
a deeply nested dream and I keep waking up
to the last shell
since high school.
I could imagine myself corrected
like the scene in that movie when they are tearing
down the highway into sunrise and
the camera pans upward
to trained Howitzer barrels
ten meters long
begging fingers for triggers.
I cannot lift
these days
without asking myself what I am training for.
All around us, weapons. If you care to love about it.
I keep waking up,
taking little stocks.
Finger to the knuckle. Connection okay.
Palm to the wrist. Connection okay.
Light to eye nerve. Connection okay.
Lid to eye. Connection okay.
Jaw to skull. Connection okay.
Hips to vertebrae. Connection okay.
The checklist goes and finishes and
enters concert.
Another day, the apparent thought
being no one has killed me yet.
And as it turns over,
the engine coughing before humming,
I know I have another 16 hours to do
and another eight to gift
to you.
