Sine Curves (Revision)

Slammed out flat in the shade beneath the tree of firsts
That bends at its creaking waist to draw forth a lazy retort
From the river lying summery and fallow in its concrete,
I twist a little to the left; my toes shuffle themselves.

This year the word ‘blitzkrieg’ has become a casual element
Of my vocabulary; I use it often. I can spend minutes
At a time rearranging a die-rattle’s worth of words,
And the neat round ink of punctuation always
In my eyes dimples sweetly.

Yesterday I walked through the glass in the garage
Like a tottering, milk-plumped fakir when they’d just said not to,
Bit red twin wings into my thumb to keep from yelling
Loud as the exit door of a nightmare as the shards clinked
Arctic and lovely into the bloody measuring cup.

‘Forever’ as a concept only grew more palpable the less pleasant
The prospect became. Before the years of looking back in hallways
And mad pre-curfew tuxedoed dashes, perhaps hot breakfast
Would have been enough, or afternoon naps.

One night when the wind is wedged up against the white house
Like a self-defense instructor pushing fifty and desperate
To prove something, I’ll sit all knees and elbows and teeth
Centered on the flat blue expanse of temporary bed playing sentinel
Over the little city of cups on the carpet trapping spiders
I don’t have the heart to kill, and wait for company.

Every newness blends together now, primary-colored dye
Staining my life in swirls with ne’er a freeze frame. Todays
Blanch greyer than clouds too pregnant to break their waters,
And I drift a little more.

When the kindergarten teacher with her brown shield of hair and a message
Told us to go through the classroom and find something
Worth as much as we were and come back to show
Everyone, I brought back the coloring books and wished
I’d been as clever as the kid with the basket of pennies.

Sometimes I can feel the wet stasis of chlorinated pools
Sitting still between my ears, sometimes feel that my ribs
Have become a cage for caves.