77-daisy chain

not another day; sunlight flickers, flicks
above beyond through the window, the leaves.
not another day, the table sighs in my ear,
can't you see this is not where you belong here;
doldrums, seas, not. yes, i say yes 
yes i do not desire this rope tied about
my pinky toe, the tiny string of ironclad chains.
arriving here is not what i was destined for,
pausing, replays. moments. yes i say, Yes
i belong in a field, daisys flowing through my veins
inching their way home; blooms, bloom. 

76-circuitous

where are we going--from what
to what? this whole shebang seems
to be circuitous and puzzling. is that
a sign up above? below? underneath? can
we even detect it or will it be something
hinting in our unconscious, below all the
other meanings, reasons why, because.
the rainbow is above us, can that be
a message hidden in the droplets hanging
between the air? what does it mean, why does it
mean? i can only hope that it leads me away to another
awareness beyond what is right infront of me,
something shimmering and glistening, full of
promise and wonder and love, all too distant to
be a portal right now.

75-the periphery

what about the horse? things slip by
me in the periphery. the rods and cones
ache for some sort of stimulus, a burst of
color, some delineation to mark a change;
some disturbance in the monotony beyond
what is; isn't. they burn holes in the
retina desiring a change, but the motion
of time flying by isn't enough to
activate their strained desires.

74- phantom sound

places in this fake empire it feels
as though others can will things into
compliance; fruition; oblivion; while
meanwhile i just float through. the tides
that don't bind gently push and pull,
making suggestions that i cannot
distinguish, cannot decide between.
the littlest things matter the most;
shall i listen to the shins or perhaps
the arcade fire, which will aid my will in
finally being listened to? will the string
finally be plucked in midair?

73-ephemeral

it's times like these when
i sense it the most, the emptiness of
the spaces between my fingers.
the clouds above are so perfectly
shaped, haloed by an exuberance
of brilliant blue, and my fingers
instinctively want to wrap themselves
between yours and squeeze, just to know
you're here, permanent, unlike the
ephemeral sensation of hearing the soft
rush of the clouds inching along.

72-syncopation

sometimes i feel as if i'm slightly misaligned
   with the rest of the universe
 its beat a bit ahead of me creating
a syncopated rhythm of missteps 
  just a beat behind where i should be
i think, (one) left foot right corner
(two) right heel kicks up
   (three) breath exhaled and (four) eyelashes
flutter quickly then again only
this time slightly different
 adjusting for situations my brain
   races to keep up but sometimes,
i can't keep my toes tapping in time.

71-shift

it hasn't rained in weeks here, no 
        bitter reflective pools to 
        bury my eyes deep in their
holds. a modicum of selfinspection
the ripples extend from the plane+
        enter my body shifting all
        the atoms around inside me
to just over. am i now another me?
if the puddle shifts as well as i,
        aren't i exactly the same?