The Year of Neglect

I am antsy
eager to move
to frit
and flit
about my intention cluttered
vestibule

I note
needfuls
on the ears
of elephants
for safe
keeping

Dark hours
twist
binding me
to where I am at
my limbs
constrained
restrained
to the dread
of knickerbockers
and bloomers
discarded
in the pandemonium
of a shattered softness

I am warned
of changes
of disappointments
by those
born from recent folds
those makers making
proclamations
atop hear-say
soapboxes
street corners
and
cheap nail salons

I wake
but do not rise
My yeasts
have not been
rendered
active

I lay
in tinfoil 
wrappings
next to magazines
and loose leaf
intentions

I vowed
 I would
leave
if it ever came to this
if ever evil 
slithered in
on its scaled bloated belly
through Rusnya 
parti pris

I lay in contempt
while the twins
fear and fury
lay waste
to the hapless
hopeful
minions

I hide 
inside
on nice days
because I relish
the gnawing
ache
of regret
or
the terror
of brilliance

angles
and
lines
abound

my mind
is full
of 
corners
to walk into

Instead
I make tea
resinous
amber
oolong
settling into
the comfort of words
one's already
between the covers
and those
I will knit and purl
into poetry
these are my colored
inspiration
easter eggs
I have hidden

the hunt
beckons

while the pigeons
like bedraggled drag queens
have come back
to roost

they scratch
and coo
and drop
white shit
from the wires
as the oblivious 
pass by
underneath

my cat
no longer cares
about the little birds

I was never bothered by the little things

I would like to think
of myself
that way

but I am 
neither
gold
nor
green
nor
diamond

I am
that tender one
in between

It is hard work
for words
to keep going
even when
the spring
has run
dry

and there is
a cat
who thinks 
the notebook
is his favorite
bed.

OctPoWriMo 2019  Day 16