Survival

 

The black cat delivery service
vomits

its inevitable cardboard box.

Some reveal themselves?

Crow!

Or more common, the archetypal,
three and their unbearable lightness

so harmony of breeze and barbecue.

Fully fit they shall be, oh yes,
my garbage bag

ripped open,

torn apart.
 

*

The old and deeply wrinkled lady
dropped to the hungry floor. 

She had flair alright and the floor did too. 

Octogenarians, 
museum floors, 

the contiguity principle,

did you wash your hands?

And how are you ever 
going to get out of inspiration?
 
Into exasperation, 

if meager attributes of quiet life 
keep capturing your attention.

 
*

The long, unseemly passing of this

reverberating on the flat,
will die, 

is dying out in that,

the train or these familiar sounds

of keys 
in the act of being 

pressed.

New Zealand heaters are burning
their own, 

less of necessity than of habit 

when all the doors
and all the windows are open.