it was supposed to be a silent meditation but instead i rambled on for nearly 20 minutes while others sat waiting and silent

for a long time i did not like
anything that i wrote. and then,
a short period of pause.
or, perhaps it was a
my words became less.
vulgar and,
threatening. threatless;

today the ground is covered
in last night’s hail, round
as a coughing throat. this morning’s
rain fills the spaces between
collections of ice, scattered
about the ground.
a murmur of breeze and
rain makes a quick costume
change, enters the backyard
as snow. as such;

February is a time
of swirling; round
ice, jagged snow, erotic
raindrop, all sharing
the same space. or;

one tongue in a concerthall
of teeth, all sharing
the same space.
derision dries in the orchestra pit,
after melting from the balcony
seats. there is confusion
on stage, the audience
unaware if this is all part
of the script. so then;

i make a quick trip out
from under this roof,
to let rain grasp loosely at
my head, to allow snow
the vaguely real estate of my back,
to bend and scoop a
hobby of quickly melting ice,
to place ice in the chamber of my mouth,
to see if its hardness can
soften my thickening tongue.

Andrews Street // Sitka // 2/23/21

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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