clarity.

Rare are those moments
when you're
a 3, instead of a 7
or an 8.
Always on the verge of losing it, who knows the cause
but it could happen.
A brief moment of clarity
a breath of fresh air in the stale room
of your mind.
It's rare.
because you're always on edge
ready to go
the terror of driving still haunts you
and there's no real reason for it.
You endured nothing traumatic
yet driving is an issue
you forget how you got places
you see things vividly when you drive
what if the brakes fail
or you get ran in to
what it the road collapses
you see it all.
The baby cries and you see yourself
dashing her against the wall
or kicking her
slapping the bigger kid
bellowing hurtful things.
They come without warning
with screaming and screeching
sometimes you cry
but most of the time
you might say no. You might whisper it.
other times you shout it.
You take a deep breath.
you say, "No I wont do that. I cannot."
It's usually the worst when you drive.
Even when the knives appear in your mind
the pills show up
showing you the easiest way out
you still say no.
You don't say much.
You cannot.
He does not get it.
He sees the ups and downs
but cannot help through them
or wont, sometimes it feels like both.
Work is meant to be a release but it's stopped being that.
it's expected that you go
provide and endure the long, relentless drive in the growing dark of autumn.
The terror still remains.
Last weekend you drove past a wreck.
they close down the road, diverting you and others.
you did your best to not look
the flashing lights
but still your eyes darted
the crumpled hulk of a white car
the tired emergency persons, uniformed and bulky
in their garb.
The dark of morning and night is hardest to see
you're more easily confused.
They come strongly in the dark, in the confusion.
and he wonders why you dread driving.
But sometimes a brief moment of clarity.
You can see the sky again.
Your teeth to bite the sun again.
You laugh again
and drink in the fresh air.
And hide away in your apartment
in a safe, secluded space
away from the roads.
the world, assuming
the darkness again, and holding it at bay as the
clarity fades again.

fits and starts

late
I said.
late, with no signs of coming.
With little response.
as if
no bid deal (nbd)
Concerned
I am not sure
a third we're not ready
but then
are you ever really ready
for the first?

is that is

Once I saw

the sky burn.

Assuming everyone did that.

They don't I learned

later.

I can still see the sky burn

trees glowing

a soft arc of light.

Anxieties

ripping against the soft fleshy skin

of realness.

"not today" I might say

that's not right

to bring it all back down.

Away from the sky

that you cannot follow

back to earth

where feet are staying.

Listen instead to 

the wind in the trees as you

work

the soft mutter of chewing animals

smell the grasses

the musk of bucks

the real things that bring you back.

Small feet running

Little Hands laughing.

Chew the apple

break the bread.

Those small reminders

of

what is real

against what isn't.

The bread reminds you the sky isn't 

burning.

The hooves remind you the voices aren't there.

I can
better now- clearer
sometimes breathing better.
Adjustments of
small things
with larger
imPACT-
adjustments
never really certain
"Lets keep you on this one first"
she says.
"I really want it to work for you."
My teeth feel more
focused.
Focused
like light in the glass.
The yeLLing
biting visions
blurrier now
with less
of a bite
wary of their return
watching wary
with feet treading water
what will bring them back?
Careful steps
smaLL steps.
Small bites before the fading sun
as the gray returns to this place.
When the gloom holds
body, holds
mind.
Small steps with large teeth
to hold a cold sun
for a winter again.
Braving changes alone
but with small helps
words to share
on a screen
grateful still
for small comforts.

coyote wet.

I recall the day
driving
a social call.
-rare.
Very wet, a stormy day
new friends.
I recall the day
as I was driving recently.
A field, saturated
grasses bent with the weight
of the moisture.
green and yellowed, gently bending towards
a brown.
You were a glimpse
a fleeting sight
as the car went forward
a stationary figure.
Your fur was
plastered flat in places
grayish brown, the paler
undercoat just visible.
Coyote Wet
your
expression, disgruntled.
ears at the side, eyes glowering
I wonder at you, Coyote Wet.
Did you survive the autumn?
do you move with this winter?
I wodner on your grumpy
face still.
Coyote Wet. I hope you have a good summer.

hole.

There's a hole in the wall

echo.

All things sing.
and in their songs
echoes.
efforts that feel
wasTED
gray numbers, gray noises
necessary gray
gray gray-
buzzing mute
for their sake
but the ache
of jaws
oh the ache.