There is a lot to process.
There is a shortened memory of care.
There is a moment where you can’t be sure.
There is a moment of uncertainty
and then it’s over and you have no more than a clue
about what’s happening…

There is a dawn coming up on the right horizon now
and you turn your face to it hoping it will warm up.
There is a sunset hours from now on the left horizon
and you keep your back to it hoping, hoping…

There is a town called Washington that smells faintly
of rot.
There is a town called Boston that smells faintly
of rot.
There is a town called Worcester that smells strongly
of rot.
There is a street that doesn’t smell yet
of anything, but it will…

There on the couch is an oblivious calico cat.
There in the chair next to the couch am I
and I am not oblivious but I wish I was…

There on the chair in the smell of rot and worry
I sit and place my head in my hands angry
and sad and burdened with knowledge…

and I wish I was ignorant,
I wish I was back drifting into
extraordinary fogs seated on the couch
letting all this drain off and away,
wish I was dead though I cannot imagine
what that would be like and
memories, biggest and brightest
of all my head-sense, fade into darkness
like a cat serenely asleep on the couch —
but still alert, I guess; it is a thing
I can only surmise…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T