when worlds
collapse in on themselves
and collide
with others
similar enough
to nearly match up
but not quite
that’s the mandela effect
that’s daily deja vu
that’s those of us wishing against all odds
that there’s something more out there
than just
nothingness.
wrap me up in
one rib-crushing hug
maybe
just maybe
my soul will re-enter my body
and i’ll be whole once more
when
will i get my
writing
back?
my churning out poem
after poem
of things
even i think
are gold?
my extended long poems
studying a single subject
until i learn
the poem wasn’t even about that
to begin with —
it was about some emotion
i’ve been feeling
but not identifying
for a while yet?
my ease
of writing poetry
every morning
without fail
without procrastination
without this trudge
through molasses
in my mind?
when?
when?
when?
the spouse
and i
have begun evening exercises
with video game kickboxing.
and we love it,
for strength/
for cardio/
for cute couple-y things to do together
in the privacy of our own home
(so no one can judge
our sweaty-red faces
but each other)//
but the cutest thing
about this endeavor
is that, due to game limitations,
lack of working controllers,
and opposite busted shoulders,
kip and i play as one person—
me on the right
kip on the left—
to share in the successes
and failures
of our one digital avatar.
and if that isn’t a perfect example
of disgustingly cute gay love,
i don’t know what is.
going through
a ‘gak’ phase
a ‘gulp’
a ‘meh’
a ‘throw up a little in my mouth
at my own words and thoughts and talents’
time
a momentary loss
of perceived
good-at-writing
(at least from my own perspective)
and i need
to remind
myself
it happens,
it happens;
it’s temporary,
it’s temporary.
(and for now
maybe
indulge in some
bad
writing)
the cat
lying
comfortably on my lap
the puppy
playing
exuberantly with her toys
something happens
some kind of loud noise
now both animals are scared,
the cat has yeeted herself from my body,
and that is why i’m bleeding.
i feel as though i’ve
run a mile in my mind and
i still can’t seem to find
any kind
of through line
or success in a poem of mine
perhaps this is the type of morning to
hide under the sheets until
i feel human once
again
rain pouring/
pounding
on our little roof,
waking me up
long before the sound
of our collective alarms,
but lulling me into
a false sense of security
that i would be able to
fall gently asleep
once more
instead the internet/
and uneven droplets/
and awkward room temperature/
and brightness sneaking in
from a gentle sunrise
outside
kept me up since 5
and now
at 8:30
i’m downing this coffee
just to stay
alive
(but at least the weather is as spooky as our morning music)
why
oh why
do i love so
the halloween lofi
music options
any time of year?
we have
such a good dog!
oh
my
goodness!
when she does the things we ask of her —
so good!
when she doesn’t,
but wants to,
but gets a little confused —
very good!
when she is feeling a bit contrary
but clearly wants us
to be proud —
so good!
when she misbehaves
it’s usually because
we didn’t give her
enough attention
or exercise
or know exactly
what was going through her mind
at the time,
and that makes her
still
a good
good
dog!
kipventures 