I felt the manic bird
of her heartbeat flutter into my throat,
her unfinished nerves sparking and misfiring,
the tiny wings of her blood rushing in and out.
All morning I groom you with tiny lovenames.
I am a cat, you are my kitten, cowlicked
Across the aisle sits Bimal,
the elderly Bhutanese man,
who sold me tea from his shack
in a soggy camp where work is rare…
A BRIEF RESPITE FROM THE USUAL PERCEPTUAL DIVIDES: AFTER CHEMO I SKI THROUGH THE VERMONT WOODS IN ANOTHER CLIMATE CHANGE STORM
Don’t tell me you didn’t get a bit edgy,
when capitalism tossed its blonde hair cockily aside,
its profit settling like plastic on the ocean’s floor.