Ordinary Things

I am not hungry-

There is only a question waiting to be posed-

Feeding on its potential and the

Closeness of the air on its

Skin-

Disintegrating the linings of the innermost

Bars and chains and cages.

That is where the nausea comes from-

This desperate and savage

Animal.

 

I am not sick-

There is only a person out there-

Covered in fog but waiting for

Me nonetheless.

He can fiddle his fingers and he can

Bury himself in his own inability to

Forgive what has already died and

Decomposed and recycled the

Useful components of

Itself-

But he is waiting nonetheless.

 

I am not simple-

I am not afraid-

I am not stagnant-

There is only a deep void at the beginning stages of

Excavation-

Things remembered and

Things blown up and

Things shoved further down-

Again-

All of these ordinary Things.

 

I am not settling-

There is only a hawk clawing the

Yesses from my chest and housing them

In the safe circle of his

Talons-

Letting smiling fibers float down from his

Travels and

Soak into the surface of all of the

Ordinary Things-

And maybe to their core if they

Allow it.