#stonedbenots

That's me summed up.

The things you don’t want me to see.

But sometimes I make me laugh.

Never the same as I left me —

always familiar.

Sometimes dirty, sometimes clean.

Only still for as long as me.

What a trip. What a treat.

Monkey see, monkey do.

Sometimes utter disgust;

other times halos of glory.

Always me.

We all want it.

A place to call our own.

A plot of land, buzzing with pollinators and promise.

Bees softly buzzing, stocking up for winter.

Butterflies gently teasing one another.

Maybe a spider or two, safely out of sight.

An herb garden stocked with sage and thyme and mint.

Wild clovers in the grass beneath your feet.

The warmth of the sun is yours; no predators or disease.

It's primal, not easy.

It requires mowing, planting, weeding.

Understanding.

I'll maybe abandon the dream,

Trade bees for pixels,

I sit by the lake

in my dreams—

in waking life, two ponds

smashed together.

A mallard and his hen sift for treats

in the muck, and a crane

brings up the rear.

Haggard beak on stilts—

I’m rooting for you.

The fog lies heavy on my fretted skin.

I exhale with practiced ease,

tar and ash and other things

that soothe my dis-ease.

An impish peace drifts over me;

I command these winged afflictions—

abandonment, loyalty—

wild, flitting things

that never learn to perch.

One last glance.

I stow my butt and lift my chest;

a second, final gaze—

the crane is gone.

No thunder of wings.

Was it ever there?

Who cares.

Goosebumps rise;

I cackle

I wish you could see me then

Now.

Blurred lines have become me.

Dancing on the edge:

Where pigments and illumination follow no rules.

I'm ready now

Then

No one can see me.

That's how I like it.

How you like it too.

It's all the same.

Always has been.

Yet it never was.

Hello (bird).

I see you.

Flitting through the leaves.

Do you see me?

I reckon you do.

Your size and yellow breast

must make you quite a tasty sight

for predators.

You too must be an avoidant.

I see myself in you but

doubt that's a two way street.

I've never seen you in threes.

Come to think of it,

you must be new.

Trying to find your flock I suppose.

Or maybe a loner like me.

Perhaps you never had one.

Never quite felt at home or safe.

Maybe you're the last of your kind;

divining which way to go via traffic patterns.

Communing with the breeze and herds of apes.

Couldn't quite find the time for a nest or bride.

Too busy interpreting dreams and tending to others' needs.

I bet you've been to places others only see in sleep

(and quickly forget) by morning coffee.

I'm sorry the bird feeder's run dry.

It'd be nice if you keep coming by.

I guess we both know how it goes.

Am I sleeping when Im with you

Or dreaming when i leave.

You're all the same

As me:

Avoidant, unresponsive, but so genuinely pleased

When we reunite.

The realest thing

Is lounging in our living room

At your feet

At ease.

Ill hound you

As much as you do me.

When I need

Let me lie

I have a lot of feelings. Most of them are useless. Same with my thoughts. Without both I'd die. With both I am an author, a poet, a god.

The remnants of her past meal dribbled from the side of her lip.

I brought a carrot to a rabbit. It didnt move. I dont know if it's grief or rabies. I left the carrot.

I cry a lot. Mostly because of pain. For myself and for others. I groan and howl and croak. I tamp the ground and aid the spirits.

Sometimes I feel my antlers. I imagine myself gaunt and lanky; hungry. Usually baring it. Sometimes giving in to it. Resolutely eating, blood from nose to chest.

No ones cup of tea

Oasitic outposts of sprawl

Civility

God acknowledging God

Tell me who you want to be

Then tell me who you are

We want to be healed

We can get on with our life

We already see you saw

A machine misunderstanding its circuitry

Both sides fall short

Seemingly so narrow