Peripheral Glitch

Sensitivity to sunlight.
Symptoms of an engine running hot
and a lack of mental stamina
can be damning.

Fear of definition makes for foggy days.
You cannot get in trouble for being asleep
is as adequate a defense as
memory.

Confirm or deny.  Either way, a lie.

It is a smallish creature, about the size of a raccoon.
Spilling from the perceived into the known.
Cohabitants of time and space,
while everything else occupies
its designated, long memorized
correct place.  What are you, little thing,
beckoning my attentions and searches,
filling my excuses overridden by excuses of lost keys?

Come out and play and
stop tampering with the lights to make them silly flicker.

Suss out and play and
come when called,
so no one need build a new
circuit broken wall.

The Children 7

Outside the window
twin glint of green eyes shine work lamp light back
from the butterfly nut holding the saw blade
inside the metal bow.

"What are you doing outside at this hour, darling?"

I thought I would watch
what you are doing at this hour.

"Where is mother?"

I thought I would watch.
What are you doing at this hour
when breath escapes you
to see me again?
Are you coming home tonight?

Commercials drag into commercials
and promotions and bumps
until static clears and pop plays again on the AM/FM set
dashed to the floor.

I have been thinking about you
while you have been away.

"I know.  I have thought about you too.
I will be home soon."

When?

"Soon!"  The butterfly nut holding the blade tense
inside the arc of the metal bow shines light back
from the outside pane of the window.
Condensation of lungs fading inside
the clatter of saw to floor, unsteady knees chasing.
"I will be home soon.  I promise.  I will bring you
something beautiful."