A corduroy day

small hills and valleys settled with chill

not familiar yet

this morning sharpness

snaps cold fingers

in a call to attention

cutting through pretense and falsehood

only an arms length away.

An epidemic of such proportion that it infiltrates my dreaming

stirs itself into my first bitter sip

I can sometimes hear it whispered in the periphery of listening

to your calm reasoning.


Insects are intensely scary when they are swarming

a plague of locusts

are not anything like the grasshopper you find and hold in your hand

spellbound by the fine precision of its creation.

Mobs are the wasps that sting

so better not to get too close

but their wings, like the butterflies a thousand miles away

are causing the winds to lift the edges of our smooth flat sheets.

They may soon resemble sails with us on boats

we no longer know to navigate.


A corduroy day

with nap and ridges

like fur on the back of a fearful dog

reading the morning news.