trying desperately to please
at least two out of the three
of my soul/mind/body
but i think
i need to think
of the systems working together —
sometimes seemingly in opposition,
but they are all 100% part of me —
and if i can align myself
in harmony
and symmetry
with all three,
i think i may have an easier time
within the parts of me
that make me
me
crabby
cranky
for no other reason than
dreams
but here i am
feeling real feelings
based on speculative happenings
all made up by my own mind
what a silly thing this
human existence is
the fires
spread through my imagination
and burn up my sleeping dreams
to alert me
when i awake
to check on LA friends
and see how they’re doing
this morning
Cold
like Wisconsin was all winter
Cold
the opposite of what’s happening in LA, apparently, with their literal
red
hot
fires
Cold
the temperature outside is below freezing
and the “feels like” temperature is in the
single digits
Cold
but we have a house
and food
and warm warm booties
Cold
but this is only one day
in one week
in one month of one winter
and the days are already getting longer
Cold
and tomorrow may be
Cold
as well, but we’ll survive the
Cold
we will
we will.
evening posting
evening writing
evening time in bed
cuddling
and creating
and falling asleeping
[it’s nice when the whole family’s here]
the problem with my desire to write
both poetry and prose is that
my poems feel more like journal entries
and my stories read more like poems
and when i try to make sure one feels like itself
[or even if i force into line the opposite kind
of writing that most folks find stable and ‘right’]
it all feels forced and off and awkward in the daylight
so, i suppose, i should just always write without expectation or label or genre
or even a plan for any words that come to mind?
i suppose, i should just
write?
“meanwhile
back on the farm…”
why do singular lessons stand out to me
when whole years disappear
in my sieve of a memory?
i can barely remember the good times
and only moments of the bad
and probably just what i made monologues of memories
is what still comes back to me
even after i’ve long since let go of that story in my repertoire
[what would it be like to have the memory
i was born with, instead of the memory
i was traumatized to have?]
i’m ecstatic
i’m scared
i’m electrified
i’m anxious
i’m invigorated
i’m apprehensive
i’m defensive
i’m meditative
i’m happy?
[maybe?]
i’m existential
i’m whatever
i’m apoplectic
i’m in shock
i’m winding down
i’m revving up
i’m lost
i’m found
i’m starting now
i’ve gone through so much
i want
i want
i need
i yearn
i spin yarn after yarn after yarn
but i never seem to learn
that it’s all part of the human condition —
there isn’t one affliction or emotion
better or worse than the others
when you look at one whole life lived
[and you’re not even near the end
as far as makes sense — why are you always
wrapping up your life in your head
to make the ending
an end
rather than a beginning
of a new era]
[you do you,
but also,
there’s more left of you
than you seem to act like
you
have
left]
i think i know what i’d like to do today
and that is
whatever my heart desires
Computer has officially
exited her shark era;
turning a solid three-years-old,
she is no longer a puppy who will bite
everything she can get her teefies on.
so we celebrated by having a long walk
in her shark halloween costume,
playing in the park
with her best dog friend,
and getting an ice cream
and a new shark toy
once home again.
and she celebrated the way she does
every other day —
by being the happiest,
most tail-waggedy,
puppiest puppy
we’ve ever seen.
[even if the shark era has ended, i believe
the puppy era will continue on
forever]
kipventures 