CATHARSIS

I hit the reset button—because my thoughts were taking too much time.

And the yellow primrose and fuchsia sweet pea were stunning—

how the primrose collapsed its yellow pages when the sun closed its eyes

and the fuchsia-flutter stumbled up the bedroom windows—its curled, sucker leaves.

Tiny miracles against background violence.

I had said too much on a broken motherboard; threw away my memories when the keyboards were switched.

Keys were broken and misplaced, cyber-links to the secrets of the universe.

Letters that needed nimble hands—so much elegant music still missing.

Initials carved into birch trees boast indelible love, but we all know better.

And the flash drive—it could no longer hold me.

I lost that, too, in the fallout of cheerful dominos.

I had been winning, but the wind sliced my vanity into shreds.

Perhaps you know how all this feels—and rubberneck, too, at the train crash and tsk tsk, it was going way too fast and the woman with all of her children piled into the careless SUV should not have been in a hurry to get her hair done.

Things come as surprises—offering up infinitesimal glitters of sun-crash and shattered star.

At night, crickets vie with cicadas and tree frogs for the utmost attention.

Before the catbird signals the rest that it is time.

I wrote in the Dictionary of Melancholia, Handbook for Fatigue, Diary of Mercurial Wanderings, Notebook of Promises to Oneself, Notebook of Modified Contingencies, Notebook of Intensities, Coda of Rain

and slept finally in the downy clouds of my ancestors beating through my faulty emotions and chromosomes.

I survived many kaleidoscopic dream fractals and other attempts at nomenclature, but with verbs.

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2 Responses to CATHARSIS

  1. Myke Todd says:

    You were never one to be seen as a statistic.
    Here at the intersection of one way streets,
    where one out of sum look to join a clique,
    whose formulas are fashioned arithmetic;
    take a header, motion where margins meet.

  2. Krysia Jopek says:

    Wow, I so LOVE thess lines, Myke! Awesome small poem in response/riff to/on “Catharsis” that stands alone intact, itself. If you agree, a title might be in order! I love the structure, exactly even lines, the rhymes that read naturally as if the line and line endings are not merely functioning to rhyme–but to honor the poem and where it moves. I’ll see you on the radio on Thursday again! Thank you for being a fan of my poetry and me, I think, lol, since we met in the fall of 2016 after I adoped Sir Eliot from your friend, poet Melissa Studdard AKA as “Mommy Melissa” in these here CT parts!

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