Summer Virus

Everyman’s recidivism
biting off the dandelion head
Five years ahead of the
ripe age for
a woman’s wine.

The dog is sad
and sees no color.
Either he pants or moans
sometimes both
His memory is the smell of condition

Penis etiology
back from between the legs
laughing beneath skinfolds
and momentarily suspended.
The child blames the womb
The womb never seems to say
the time of death
upon arrival.

Black yard extending into the
center of a house
crawls up the stairs to
leave a path of bluegrass
dynamite
The repeating of the same
is a movie on rewind
Towards the beginning I go endlessly
under syringes of focus
pinning down the eloquence
of singularity under pressure to
multiply in the
name of another.

Cats lean over and reveal
before running
before escaping with their claws one inch deep
Ears are pricked
She is low to ground
She will move faster

The animal is a brain flexing
the habitual motor
located at neuro outskirts
of a fundamentally electric city
reeking of pathological biology.

I gave you a chance
and you
do not care.
My home was left open
and you robbed instead of stayed.
An insect on the window’s glass
Is she inside or outside?
Kill her or put her outside so she can fly.

There’s a vein of creative writing within your whole that I like a lot, and this piece belongs to it. I especially liked the ending with the insect dilemma.

I’m seeing (rubs lobes) solopsism. Disconnected being (looking in crystal ball) longing to connect. A de-transcendentalism.

Do come again, and we will begin cookie therapy.