Loose Threads

October 1, 2012

~

Her leash is twisted.

I notice from its shadow on hot pebbled pavement,

as the sun’s long fingers stretch

languid to the road.

A burn is felt beneath the surface,

of my chest.

With hands

pressing my head weighted,

I feel pressure from my monster

to straighten the dog’s lead,

NOW,

lest I tease the evil once too often.

~

Order and symmetry,

symmetry or order,

of two, precedence is taken by which?

Lists,

lists of lists tangled in each other,

I cannot separate.

As my sweating chest releases fear,

I try creating order in this world,

in my world.

The world will be neatly stuffed

into a pillow, perfectly sewn and packaged.

There will exist no loose threads.

No bulging parts, this pillow

where upon I rest my head,

my head which gets no rest.

~

Only as outlines approve

my eyes will see last light from the bedroom lamp

as he reads.

Threads secured, lumps flattened

as there is order and symmetry, or symmetry and order.

Of two words, which takes precedence?

Doubts, afraid I am.

Thinking must continue

as clear lines are slow in being drawn.

I untwist her leash as I turn

home.

Not releasing the friend at my side

nor the monster

taking precious space in my head.