rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Sunday Late Yet Again

Another hot day leading to another evening nap, and consequently to a muddled head. I ended up never getting out of the apartment. In fact I'm still in my housepants (I suppose only people old enough to remember housewives wearing housecoats will get that reference.) Tomorrow is going to be worse, of course, but I actually do have to get out sometime in the next couple of days. It's not going to be fun.

I woke up from the evening nap around ten o'clock, then lost track of time on the Internet looking at pictures of cold things and reading about snow and ice cream and such. I don't think there is enough cold stuff on the Internet to get me through a Sacramento Valley summer. Maybe I could be cryogenically frozen until they discover an effective cure for heat.




Sunday Verse



Polar


by Dobby Gibson


Like the last light
spring snowfall
that seems to arrive
from out of nowhere
and not land, exactly, anyplace,
so too do the syllables of thought
dissolve silently into the solitude
of the body in thought.
Like touching your skin,
or the first time I touched ice
and learned it was really water
and that neither were glass,
so does the jet contrail overhead
zip something closed in us,
perhaps any notion of the bluer.
Glancing sunlight,
my shoulders bearing the burden
or any theory why these birds
remain so devoted
to their own vanishing.
One store promises flowers
for all your needs,
another tells you
everything must go.
One river runs like a wound
that will never heal,
one snow falls like a medicine
that will never salve,
you the Earth, me the moon,
a subject moved in a direction
you desire, but for reasons
I believe to be my own.

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