the fear bleeds in even
prewaking - it is what wakes me i am
in its wake: senses strain senselessly
and at instant against any/all sound
already forming new portents from the
bottles that break daily in the dumpster next door or
the screech and grind of mack truck drop offs.
an apple is green unless it isn't.
it is a fruit unless it is a laptop or a crayon.
anything is also something else and i can't ever keep
my mind from finding all the bleakest leads from every
little symbol seed sound or sight or thought or blood thrum feeling;
just because i'm not the only one who's there for something
doesn't mean it ever really happened does it buddy
no not if it was one small unremarkable moment
that often even i cannot recall but is yet the point
where i perceived some thing that took up home
inside my head and grew consipratorial to gnaw
persistently upon all reason in the structures of my world.
a man calls, requests me by name and hangs up --
a car parks outside for ten minutes and drives off --