would you believe contrite
if I still laugh along with friends
garbage piled up chores missed
but my phone on auto-check
my way of thinking
fits not on prescription
pads but life affirming
nonetheless if you
will let me live
my hand is ready
to be taken
car lights in the rain
pulling arms away
doors behind close
closer coming home
under cover rain
words down flatten
past due prime
when will flood
away us panning
in muddled love
Tri-angled shapes upon the hill behind
my house are given by the sun, and lined
in such a way that each thing, now refined,
looks springlike. Pine trees, holes inside the ground,
black squirrels as they run and jump and bound
from here to there, paint pictures all around.
I love to watch and feel the earth. It greens
from frozen tundra into warmth, careens
into when I go out and wear my jeans.
As if a monster came and slammed the door
and interrupt the calm I’d known before,
it slid right in to do its nasty chore.
Before my consciousness went dark I heard
the door click. In my brain now nothing stirred.
I fought against the thief who stole each word
but lost the battle. Gone awareness, gone
to nether places where there was no dawn.
The monster flexed its muscle, showed its brawn.
Then three days later I could see the light.
The monster lost its power and strength and might.
A little daytime now replaced the night.
I speak of seizure as a monster thing
because it wraps around me, tightened string
that holds me in its grip like some tough sling.