unusual in the wood,
a larger split than
yesterday – middle of the living room
a hairball stuck in it,
cat swats
drag claws down the open wound –
wood floor older than me,
vehemently carrying the strong
grain
of my birth, locked in place
one in to the other,
side
by
side, carrying the un
bearable load;
a weight in life
bending,
bowing,
slamming on the shoulders
all the shit from hours before,
from years before my existence
leading in to moments beyond life –
beyond breath
beyond blood flow.
1981 was the year, little lung
little heart.
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