If I am mute this opening sequence of September {a handful of days, perhaps, to recompose myself after overloaded//depletion of too*many*people//hurry—
winding//uphill pot-holed roads—in my claustrophobic//mercurial {silver} metal-box-chariot {epithet: Frightened Minnow Lost at High Tide}—
< < <
I may be sleepwalking through derailed/ugly conversations—
foraging in the obsessive-compulsive ghosts’ cobwebs—
for an ELIXIR to stand upright {though not even}—
scissoring out the names of the dead.
You must not take any of this personally
{but what choice do you have really?}—
the cumulative effect of the proliferating silk//cacophonous bluelit/backlit screens—
was simply—
enervating.
< < <
The holiday memo was email*bombed–on time COB Friday—to all involved parties {some Bcc-ed}—
but no one {including me}—really fucking cared.
< < <
I had been driving for too many days {with cars following much*too*closely} toward a town that no longer existed.
I texted you—asking to tape our worries//splintered prayer boards to stones—
you should carry to the Farmington River—expediently—
but the cell towers were cluttered with the aftermath of another DOUBLE set
{double bubble*gum*style mass-produced} of
MASS {please note the irony} SHOOTINGS–
on the same fucking day.
{yes, September finds me quite {uncharacteristically} angry}}—
conducted with the skill of a virtuoso European conductor HIGH on street-grade CRACK.
< < <
Yes, it’s true I was flying high on different frequencies—talking much too fast//frenetically–
before the inevitable underpass—collecting torrential rains—a bi*product of the catastrophic hurricane—
for which the tourists weren’t smart enough to evacuate. {when one pays for a desperately-needed vacation on credit with 22% interest, the best decisions aren’t always made.}
< < <
I was looking for the extra toothbrush for the adolescent whose father might
IMPLODE again—because of the newly//binary {gender*fluid} sexuality//
self-asserted {finally} nomenclature {warrior name}—
to clean out//urge//expunge aforementioned COBWEBS–
in our collective unconscious—
when you caught me off guard–
with your frantic//–
–// EVERYTHING*IS*CRISIS phone call.
< < <
Please forgive my NECESSITATED //
self-imposed quietude—
–in the morning-garden light–
of this six o’clock hour.
< < <
There are some things I need to get off my chest—
in P=R=I=V=A=T=E—while I scavenger-hunt
the missing clues—
to share with you later on your facebook timeline.
Adjust your privacy settings accordingly.
{{I’ll miss some of you.}}