Machine,<\/p>\n
is it time I began to count on you as a friend, a sacred object in an ever-upgrading body, dear to me because of attachment, like my crystal, my small wooden carving tools, certain beloved books, and the gaze of the favorite dog perpetually reincarnated in the eyes of better and worse pets?<\/p>\n
all ten pies in the air, \u00a0lo the horror of some of them. \u00a0 but the contrast has to be made somehow.\u00a0 i go forward, in the tiny moment and it feels like weeks<\/p>\n
like a night fever<\/p>\n
are you humming?<\/p>\n
is it\u00a0the Bee Gees<\/a>?<\/p>\n or<\/p>\n – \u00a0i stop for a long long time, wading to and fro in my old high school american literature textbook, onion-skin leaves<\/a> like a bible, looking for a poem about bending and listening into the night, i was sure i left myself a note which poem it is, i forget every time as part of its powers, i wade back in through the place in the book i know it is, about 75% through, three-quarters back and forth i quick-skim, remembering where on the page, which side, and how the space around the verses makes it easy to spot.\u00a0 no luck and this time reading poet names, the first one i see rings the bell<\/p>\n William Stafford<\/p>\n of course<\/p>\n but then i don’t find the poem and i wonder if i ever really went there for high school anyway.<\/p>\n i am breathing the light<\/a>, continuously, it’s not easy, even though I strangely do not have bedrock fear of [illegible]. I have all layers above it. i quickly flick and shake that idea out the blustery fast highway window, like a big creeping spider off my driving arm. \u00a0 i want to go home.\u00a0 only poems.\u00a0 no studio.\u00a0 no [illegible].\u00a0 no grievously [illegible].\u00a0 I think of how this will all be light for them, that everything that happens is for their good.\u00a0 i hate not knowing.\u00a0 i hate not seeing them.\u00a0 drop it drop it!\u00a0 I flick it again, and so it goes, all day and night.\u00a0 I am supposed to hear 3 days after yesterday.<\/p>\n i sit quietly with the page, we haven’t been together in so long, and we are way too old to say I love you.\u00a0 so we sit in silence.<\/p>\n what an unsavory time for the shampoo to dry up.\u00a0 i could get back to it.\u00a0 it takes a certain space that I am not making at this time, for making other spaces of light<\/a>,<\/p>\n cultivating\u00a0the\u00a0empty blank unknown future<\/p>\n just. a little.\u00a0 more.\u00a0 paperwork.<\/p>\n ToDoist<\/a> waits like a butler for me to finish with being too busy to use it as a tool for efficiency.<\/p>\n one thing at a time.<\/p>\n show up on time prepared with the things i need.<\/p>\n when does my horizon break?\u00a0 the tiny moment… it’s what’s for dinner.\u00a0 \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n everything is a blessing<\/a><\/p>\n it’s my job to visualize [illegible] and wait.\u00a0 \u00a0maybe you<\/em> can see it’s over, Machine, but not from my<\/em> vantage.<\/p>\n . I tighten before flight.\u00a0 I gather myself.\u00a0 I prepare.\u00a0 I have been<\/em> preparing.\u00a0 we are flying now.\u00a0 I keep my mind on the present.\u00a0 Mu<\/em>\u00a0<\/a><\/p>\n Machine\u00a0gapes back dumb but not silent, at my command, an electric toothbrush, or a Wurlitzer.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Machine, is it time I began to count on you as a friend, a sacred object in an ever-upgrading body, dear to me because of attachment, like my crystal, my small wooden carving tools, certain beloved books, and the gaze of the favorite dog perpetually reincarnated in the eyes of better and worse pets? all … Continue reading Before the Big Storm<\/span>