screen again

anticipating a thunder storm

i begrudgingly dance with the

screen again.
making promises to pen and ink and paper.
to permanence.  


sporadic flashes of lightning

charge the gusts of wind

(can't think of the word

for small gusts.
)
i hope you forgive my laziness.  

they rarely discuss negligent poets. 



thursday night,

july.

the summer daze thick and heavy
you are in bed with the younger one. 

her latest tantrum knocked her out.

i'm both terrified and proud of all her rage. 

"she gets it from you.
you know. "
you tell me. 

as if I'm the only one 
who's ever been this agitated.



the fan spinning, 

reminds me of hemingway in cuba

masculine and romantic.
he the hero

me at home. 

in the end:

he in idaho with a shotgun.
me at home. 



the lights glow warm.

so many people

get the lighting of their spaces wrong. 

forgetting that light waves

vibrate too. 

outside,
the city we now call home

drives itself in circles

on buses and cars
and other wheeled 
distractions.

i'm 

alone with a book
of 
billy collins poetry. 

looking. 
my mind still
with the koi

i watched earlier through the ripples

and the wind.

and the screen again. 

always the screen. 



tired of documenting life

in images and short clips. 

bored with serving up

a pixel at a time. 



maybe the best way

is still with words. 

no matter
how awkward or clunky

they might be.