Insolitude

I can sit anywhere,    on a chair.
The squawk of your incessance.
Ears unclogged:
     rivulets
        of cotton.

Today was a two out of ten.    At most--
Among the shards intact: jagged
Capsules of pillowy hope
In bile, swimming    clockwise.

Rapidized pulse, clenchedbreath.
Smothered under a Lincoln Log cabin of
You, until some kid    kicks it in.

If I stand somewhere to think:
Staticky oblivion, just    a headache.
So I intend to retrace, embrace
A quiescent moment,
    I retrace.

This is me.    And until tomorrow,
    anew.

s.d.