pivotal


true story: in October 1991,
I was hurled over the handlebars
of my dad’s ten-speed
by Pangaea the Pothole
because a dead squirrel
looked like Chewbacca.
Limped home six blocks and
accidentally sat on a beehive.
Wocka wocka wocka.

Absence makes the Henry Fonda.
A void created by an angry man.
All the young dudes express their sympathy.

the ignominy is the axiom.
you introduce catastrophe when
you marry the watermelon with
the Crate & Barrel bedcloth.
I like piling the blankets fourteen high
and folded in thirds atop my legs:
Gravity and the Dead Sea Scrolls,
neither of which could prevent the sting(s).

I’m okay, but
I’m surrendering to my delusions & demons,
tumbling back into the cat’s eyes.
To err is human. To forgive, feline.

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