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.
pressing my head weighted,
I feel pressure from my monster
to straighten the dog’s lead,
lest I tease the evil once too often.
Order and symmetry,
symmetry or order,
of two, precedence is taken by which?
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
Not releasing the friend at my side
nor the monster
taking precious space in my head.