Like after you see the lightning, you know
The thunder will follow. The sound of the rain
Slamming against the car. The sound of quiet
Panic. The tense humidity about to break
Into the lightening that will lead to the thunder.
You know the thunder will follow, but
It doesn’t always. And the intervals grow longer
And then sudden. You aren’t always aware and
Warning signs are complicated. Foggy, quick
Flash of light. Force yourself to steady, to wait.
I spent an hour lying perfectly still so as not to disturb my watching of the sleeping kitten, who was sound asleep across my neck, despite my being awake and watching and being.
I spent an hour lying perfectly still
So as not to disturb my watching
Of the sleeping kitten, who was sound
Asleep across my neck, despite my being
Awake and watching and being.
What line breaks do.
I still find myself becoming preoccupied with project. I love form but not worrying about it. I wonder whether I was always only going to write like me, like this.
And what I will do with it all.
Last night it poured in that distinctly-on-the-edge-of-summer way that rain has. Don’t ask me if I remember. Don’t ask me about comma choice.
Don’t ask where I am going.
I don’t enjoy employing tricks. I’m an easy target because I won’t play the game which leaves me standing out in the open, ready to be found out.
There is a butterfly outside my window.
