shiatsu shih tzu

 

a used car selling

autumn wind

whets its tongue

against its teeth,

whispers into the

room between

frost freckled

windows and

century survived

cream city brick.

 

it finds me

thumbing the

bell jar on the

porcelain.

 

when i find a

place i relate

with, i’m

wont to

visit often.

 

i stare at the

gooseflesh on

my forearm,

imagine a girl

to read my brail.

something like

the bible (or

nothing like the

bible).

 

survival is the

goal, but to what

end do these

means intend to

lead me?

 

i shit another koi

fish, i watch it

swim around the

bowl with both

boredom and

awe in equal

parts.

 

cherubs help me

fondle the handle,

flush my miracle,

and again i am…

 

inconceivably

alone.

 

the panacea of

pangea for the

division of the

individual,

misdirection for

the masses,

supernatural

slight of hand,

the precious lie.

 

it’s an “attaboy”

for the old ego,

pity applause

for the broken

dance of the

crippled dancer.

 

and all of this

while i pour

black coffee

and peel a

hard-boiled egg.

 

the christ on

my toast

rolls his eyes.

 

in the west rises

a confused and

angry sun,

should i (fill in

the blank)?

 

i work a

crossword

while i wait

for an answer,

my will,

among other

things.

 

i settle for

distraction, it

kisses me full

on the lips,

slips its hands

up my sundress.

 

this is somehow

appropriate.

 

i feel a phantom

ring on the

middle finger of

my right hand.

 

i haven’t worn a

ring in thirteen

years.

 

mortality makes

us dangerous.

 

reverie besets

me and i name

my daughter

california so

she won’t have

to chase it.

 

i watch fireflies

flicker patterns

of atoms like

impossible

ballerinas.

 

geraldo rivera

interviews

charles manson

as i exercise.

 

i grasp at straws,

get handfuls of

sharp tongued

wind with an

extended

warranty on an

’82 buick on it’s

breath. purple

paraffin wax

pirouettes in

orange water, i

shutter with

warmth or it

cradles me.

 

i am

a

thirty-year-old

tantrum

temporarily

pacified by a

fart that smells

like roses. this

is immediately

followed by a

pang of

anxiety

akin to

smashing my

teeth out with

a ball peen

hammer.

 

when it passes,

i shower and

ready for the

workday.

 

it’s all punch line.